Mothers, Mothers-in-law and any other such kinds

How many mother-in-law, or mother jokes do you know. Or tell yourself? Or laugh at from others? There are articles, podcasts and memes about the horror of all horrors, "the mother-in-law". Very often portrayed as the dragon incarnate, overprotecting (usually her son) her children, interfering and giving unwanted advice. 

Then there are those that laud their mother-in-laws, love them for the relationship they share, find themselves gaining a 2nd mom and happily spending time with them. Where do you find yourself sitting in your relationship with your son and daughter-in-laws?

The reverse of course is that the MIL (work it out)can have the same dilemma. Are you loving and warm and helpful but have the son and/or daughter in-law from hell who only sees you as unable to snip the apron string, or do you have that warm and fuzzy person you longed to have?

MIL discussions and opinions are as old as the hills and they will always be a topic of conversation. 

I got lucky with my future DIL. We love each other and have a lot of fun when I visit and stay there. She is feisty and so am I. Which means we can disagree also. So it works. Sadly due to a serious job she is not able to come and visit us much at the coast. My son also got lucky with a warm, funny and loving future MIL. I shall ask my future DIL for a statement on my suitability 😀😀😀😀😀. She will tell you she loves my dancing skills and horrible accents but that I make great milktart and macaroni and cheese. 

I know from my parents that their in-law situation was great on the one side and tricky on the other. It makes life so difficult. 

I read an article on the plane last night in which it outlined the challenges - you don't want to let go completely or take control completely of a person and nor should you have to - both sides need to see that to make it work. 

As a MIL you always have to be watching the line between helping and interfering. When my mom visited us she washed dishes, tidied up a sideboard I never got to, folded the odd thing lying around and fiddled here and there. It was done with love and I so loved it.

I am the same. My son is busy with a 7 year degree at Tuks and his fiancé has a killer hour job as an Attorney. They leave early and return late. So when I was there I did everything I could to help. I would hate to come home in the evening and know that I must still take down or do washing, or fold the damn stuff or other little chores. No one wants to sweep at 9pm. I hope other moms realize that helping with everything you can when you visit from another Province like me, is saying "hey I have the time and you have so little of it" as opposed to "well obviously you are incapable of doing it so I will". As I only see them every few months I love to spoil them. Same with my daughter. She loves to wash dishes and sweep/mop but hates the whole laundry thing. Also she is at the restaurant 6 days a week. So I happily do load after load and fold for her. Why? Because I think she is lazy? No. Because when I visit I have the time to do it. With love. 

So young people - adults - older people - take advantage of your MIL if you have a good relationship. And MIL's - tell your SIL's and DIL's that free labour is great. 

In my case we mix all of this with coffee and eat out dates, watching series together on Netflix, card games and a helluva lot of laughing. 

What a blessing

till next time

c'est la vie xxx

The ink that binds us

 Letters. Photos. Postcards. 

Private mementos. Personal moments. Special memories. 

In my dad's drawers - in his office, in the drawers in the spare room, in his large filing cabinet, there are hundreds upon hundreds. 

And now, what to do? There are letters in their dozens that my grandmother wrote to my dad when he was in High School here in Pretoria, having moved with her from Germany when he started Gr 8 at Afrikaans Hoër Seunskool. Yes, a boy who spoke German and some English. Till today I do not understand the choice. However he stayed in Res, matriculated from there and remained a member of the Alumni forever. 

When my grandmother went back to Germany, she wrote hundreds of letters to him at school, and when he went to University to study to be a CA. 

Now we have boxes and boxes and boxes of airmail envelopes and telegrams from her to him. We even found a Telegram she sent him when he passed Matric. 

Now I do not have the head space to read them all, nor is it my business, but merely tipping them into a recycling bag feels so wrong. It is a whole life, a whole relationship between a mother and son - it cannot be tossed aside like it never existed. I would hate that. 

Then there are the photos - thousands of them. So on my next visit I am going to have to get dozens of recycling bags, sit down and go through them, keeping just the special ones.  That is the thing about the days when you handed in a film for developing - we have to open hundreds of plastic zip closed photo packets and these also included the blurred and useless photos that you discovered when you fetched your photos. 

Now that we are 80% packed up in the house (yes the big house with many bedrooms and studies is wonderful, but my parents (code for dad), filled every single available space). Packing up has been a spectacular event. We are left with those photos and letters, a closet of suits going to a charity organization and 5 full length garage cupboards filled with every paint, oil, garden fertilizer, screwdriver, tool, and everything else that Builders Warehouse stocks. Basically we have a Builders Warehouse in there. I mean it. It is mind-blowing. Most of the stuff must be tossed but as the Estate does not allow me to have a skip outside for 48 hours, and no dustbin bags besides those in the bin, where to throw it has become another dilemma. 

Nic regularly reminds me of the massive task that my sister and I have had to undertake and asks that Eug and I not cause the same for him and Jess 😂 At the moment the last of these tasks has fallen to me. A mission when you live in another province and have to make this part of your visits. I think if you live in the same province, it is easier as you can work every day until you are done. 

So me and my dad and mom's memories lie ahead - they are precious and are to be treasured. 

till soon 

c'est la vie 

The mystery of a mystery shopper - how will you do as a person?

So here I am, like a stealth book character, being a mystery shopper in a branch of a well known SA coffee shop (or full restaurant in some areas). 

The brief is extensive and the questions on the app aplenty as you go through the process of cleanliness, ambiance, staff attention, uniforms, products available and in stock, your welcome, getting coffee like you ordered it (extra hot), how your food was and your sweet item (you have to have both, so devastated). In addition how loyalty app was handled, was it offered and on and on. With photos of everything they ask. Luckily today people take photos of food when they go out, so I did not look out of place.  

For this I claim and get my bill refunded to me and in addition a crisp R100 for my trouble. I can do a free meal and R100 thank you very much. Buys me 3 coffees at my favourite hangout in Gordons Bay. They have a lesser price for refills which is unheard of anywhere else that I go. Plus the two owners are really lekker. I will give them a mention in the PS below, however I cannot disclose the store brand I am currently sitting at. 

How has it gone so far? Average. Now since I visit this brand (restaurant) quite regularly somewhere else, I am used to superior service and a fantastic visit start to finish. This is not because I am now a regular, it was like that from the day they opened. 

So back to where I am. From when you step into the store, the app is asking ongoing questions, and they leave nothing unasked. I am surprised I did not have to check the floor for dust. But hey. You paying me. I will lick it if needed. So the greeting was non existent, they couldn't provide a cash slip, only a card slip, which is a problem as I have to submit the slip, they didn't ask if I had app, or suggest it - I waited until she handed me card machine. However the staff are very friendly, the store is pristine, the music not intrusive, the service fast. I just wish the loo wasn't on the complete other side of the centre. I have to have two hot drinks, which means that my 58 year old bladder needs to go 6 times. I am not packing up my whole laptop etc. for that. I shall pee in my jeans if needed. Yuck. 

Based on yesterday's blog, the spoil my fun two ladies have arrived and now I know all their business. I have put my buds in and James Blunt is belting. I can still hear them. Why????? Her marital issues are not my issues. 

The mystery shopper has made me think of something akin to it. 

Who are you when you are being observed without you knowing it. When someone watches you and your interactions - whether at work, or how you deal with a certain person. How you behave in a store, at an appointment, at home. Imagine someone with an app watching your interactions. Are you as nice as you think, do you treat others like you think you do. Are you respectful to those you should be. Are you neat and presentable, do you greet people nicely, do you chat about relevant and fun topics. Do you have depth (like a vast display of food in a glass display unit). Are you generous? Do you say thank you (my fav). The list is endless. 

Think to yourself for a moment - if a mystery shopper was marking you right now, how would you rate? No-one is perfect, but what could you improve?

till next time

c'est la vie xxx

PS Gordons Bay Coffee Cafe - Fatima and Melissa 

What winds you up

There is surely a time in everyone's lives when some things just push all their buttons. Or as my dear dad would say "gives one the shits". I don't know if it gets worse as you get older, but some of these having been giving me the ....... for at least 30 years. 

Now the last decades have brought us the mobile phone, which in time brought us irritation number one. People who sit in coffee shops (or restaurants) and take video calls or make business calls with their earphones in and laptops open. There is no reason, not one, unless your speaker is broken, not our problem, for having a conversation on speaker in a place where other people are working, relaxing or just not wanting to hear you and Tant Sannie chat on speaker or video or listen to Estate Agent, or a guy who is obviously just the man, speaking loudly whilst on earphones making sure everyone can hear just how successful he is. I asked a lady to tone it down recently after one hour. She shrugged me off. Those that know me will know how that ended. Also, why do you have to take a video call then. Go sit outside on a bench and take it. Even better get a take out coffee and stay out. Or take a normal call, at a normal volume.

Then. If you go and have a meal etc. with a friend, I am not referring to 8 people having a fun night out, I am talking about two people, and men are mostly the culprits here, why do you have to discuss your work or personal business at volume 9. Usually while doing an interview, sales pitch or just showing how big you are.  At the last 4 coffee shops I went to this was the case. Two guys at volume 900. Surely you can hear your own volume.

Irritation number 3. Why must you talk throughout a movie, show, concert or any other outing where your mouth is supposed to be closed. Whisper if you want to talk the entire time. At James Blunt last week the two women behind us wanted to catch up for 2 hours. The louder he sang, the louder they shouted over him. Why not just go and sit at Steers and get a burger and catch up while your husbands watch the show. If you go to a movie, why do you have to have your phone on super bright and Whatsapp the whole time. Unless you an online call service agent bunking work. 

Then the I want to be addressed in my home language thing. Recently a guy walked up to a pay point at a Supermarket in Paardevlei. He spoke to the cashier in Afrikaans. She replied in English. He insisted on paying for his frozen fish and 2 lit Coke whilst speaking Afrikaans. He then made a fuss over "do you want a bag" as she could not say it in Afrikaans. He went large. I am still trying find out, since English was her 2nd language and not his, then what was his second language? Xhosa? No. I can assure you he of the big mouth does not speak any of the other languages besides English and Afrikaans. And please do not come to me with the people must be served in their language. So when Person A goes into Mr. B's shop, will he manage to deal with her in her language? No. English is a business language. Get over yourself. And why must I stand behind you in the queue so you can do all this. Why. 

Then my absolute fuse blower. The use of the word "them". Not in reference to other people, or other situations or other groups. No the word "them" when applying to a certain race, usually in a Community Group posting - look at the beach litter (btw we have one of the cleanest beaches, I can see it 24/7). Then someone will come along "dis hulle wat dit doen". Somehow hulle always comes from a certain sector. I got bad service in Checkers today (want hulle weet nie van beter nie). Or the pale lady who let her kids leave all their icecream papers on the beach where I was sitting because "hulle sal dit skoonmaak". Them. Best you walk a wide berth around me with that generalisation. Or better still - did you see in the media yesterday that Orania now has their own bus service?. No "them" there. Off you go. 

And lastly, the lack of use of the word thank you. For a gift, a call, something done for you - big or small - a favour, a treat, a coffee, anything. Say thank you. If your parents didn't teach you or insist on it as a child, I will happily teach you as an adult. No one has to remind you, no one has to ask you to say thank you. Just do it. It's a no brainer. 

Ok, before I work myself up - 

Till next time

c'est la vie xxx

If I am running you know someone is chasing me

Well that saying is one that would always have applied to me. Understand me nicely. I don't run. You know when someone says "let me run and fetch this" - I don't even do figure of speech running. 

Then at the end of July, after a lecture delivered by my kids as to my health, and do I want to live to 100 and do I want to still be able to play with my future grandkids and so on and so forth, I had a think. My exercise regime (apparently my beach walks are not enough) and great love of all things chocolate, had become concerning to them. Hence the lecture. I said ok (thinking in my mind jeez who is the parent). However I realised that I was panting a lot (between fridge and couch) and did sleep badly, have enormous stress (ok haven't found that solution yet), a new heartburn habit and some other things. 

So I started the only thing that works for me - calorie counting. You may think it is laborious but everything has a kj label on it, and with a simple app on your phone it is easy. Can't find it? Just scan the product barcode and boom. Once you get into it, it is quick, effective and means you continually can see how much you can still eat. My daily limit is 5323 kj.  You may think it is little, however when you cut out the massive portions, it is enough. You have to get used to it, but you won't starve. For the first 5 weeks I did no chocolate, no treats, nothing. Now if I want to have some chocolate, then I know that 5 little blocks is one serving and will cost me 473 kj. However there is no point in eating 5000 kj of junk. It does not mean that some days I want to put an entire cheesecake in my mouth. 

Are there cheat days - obviously, I normally use weigh day as a small cheat day, but it is not a free for all.

So between end July and today I have lost 7kg so far. Almost a bag of dog food. Lekker hey. 

Then I saw an advert on FB - Coach Potato to 5km. A ten week programme of 3 times a week in which the purpose is, to over that period, get you from being a potato, to being someone who can run 5km. 

Now granted, I did think we would be eased into half running and half walking a km or so on day one. I nearly died when I drove my car on the route afterwards and realised we had done a 30 sec run, 30 sec walk, for a total of 3.8 kms. I am not sure where Couch Potato to 5km in 10 weeks came from but I have full faith in the very patient, super nice and encouraging young man who is our taskmaster, encourager and motivator. When he says 4, 3, 2, 1 to indicate we must swop between running and walking or vice versa, I think we sometimes want to punch him in the throat. However as a group we love him. Today I found that the timing was going very well for me. 

How did my body react? Well. The first morning after running, when I stood up I seemed to have frozen from the hips down. I shuffled my feet along and found sitting down and standing up awful. My lower back felt if I had been passing bags of cement around all day. Wednesday oiled up the limbs again but on Thursday my quads (I have quads I discovered), seem to have seized. More pain. Friday we were into a routine that allowed us even running and walking periods, but my knee seems to have gone on strike as in "what the hell are you doing, thudding down on us 3 days a week". Seems my hamstrings are unhappy. Today we did 45s run and 30s walk, stretching ourselves. My knee is still not happy, but hey. I do the whole route every time. I have not slacked off, cut it short, walked non stop or died. I only have to compete with myself. And if that means I am at the back all the time, so be it. Today was my easiest day so far. 

Just a note - I now put on a latex glove before I slather on all that Deep Heat as instructed by Mikhail. Why? Because I obviously should have washed that hand a lot better before I touched my face or went to the loo. Enough said. 

Onwards and upwards. I remind myself that it can never again be last Monday. My first day to run has come and gone. 

till next time

c'est la vie 

 

Sunday.The Intruder Day.

 On Sunday I returned from 3 weeks with my gorgeous family in Pretoria. I was already sad that I had to leave them all, irritated by being inconvenienced by 6 people who delayed the flight for an hour while we sweltered in the plane on the tarmac and wanting to get home for the double header of F1 at 3pm and Liverpool at 5pm. That was the plan. 

Immediately after the game ended, as we as diehard Liverpool fans waited for the fanfare and speeches of Klopp leaving, we heard an enormous thud outside followed by a chaotic reaction from dogs. Racing to the deck leading from our bedroom and the lounge, we saw a guy in our yard, our neighbour yelling to us and waving a torch and security reaction cars screeching into street, all at once.  Intruder / Perpetrator / Robber / House Invasion man, had got onto their roof.  When she pushed the panic button, he ran from security and sadly chose the worst direction, falling off the 2nd floor of their house, into our yard.  That injured him badly. In the next bad choice, he decided to go over the steps wall outside our kitchen, without realising that it led to the level below.  Again a big fall, smashing a little braai in the landing.  By now he must have been adrenaline fuelled as he was badly injured and bleeding profusely.  Our neighbour screamed that he was under our deck running towards our front door.  Just before he got there he decided climbing onto the deck (to perhaps hide in house) was an option, running smack into Eugene and I, me then yelling to the 4 security guys way down below, who additionally arrived, to please jump our gate and help, as Eugene hung onto the guy (not wanting him to climb onto deck, but also not wanting him to fall back 2 metres onto cement stairs) and hanging onto our Malinois dog, who by their nature, protect at all costs.  Being my husband he did not want the dog to attack the guy.  I think it fortuitous that the guy did not have me holding the dog, because I wouldn’t have held the dog back.  There was no way to know if intruder was armed.  

It took the initial 3 buff security guys a helluva struggle to get intruder to let go as he had now wrapped his arms and legs around the balcony railings.  Eventually, cuffed and lying on our deck, things hotted up - 6 security guys plus 4 SAP (this is why we live in the WC, things get done), searching him, searching the 2 yards for an accomplice or weapon.  They then suddenly thought he had died before the paramedics got there.  What followed appeared to be a resuscitation as they rushed in, a beeping heart machine, our 5 dogs going mad, a deck so full of people it looked like a party and a street filled with a multitude of colours of flashing lights.  

When they eventually all left, an SAP related trauma counsellor was sent to our house at 11pm to speak to us. He reminded us that irrespective of the injuries, the man had made a choice to enter the initial property. 

And then the bad part - me hosing down the deck to rid it of the blood, also on the railing and the wall below.  Hubby on the other level, hosing down the bricks where he fell, the railing he had touched.  This, this was the trauma.  We had been adrenaline fuelled as well.  Shouting for help, looking at the intruder, controlling the dogs, letting more and more people in the front door, showing people where they could wash blood off their hands, listening to the heart machine. As far as I have been able to ascertain, he did not survive the next 48 hours.

The deck is my place.  I pray there in the morning.  I meditate there with my first coffee. We watch every sunset and take photos. We revel in the sea in front of us. It has always been the highlight of our home.  The next day we were both shell shocked, at how differently it could have ended if he had been armed when he climbed onto deck, of seeing him lying there, every time we looked at the deck.  

Herein lay the mental fight though. The next day I went to walk on the beach (I love to be in the water - winter or summer), so I was knee deep in, taking photos as the tide went out.  All I could think about was that the guy, when born, had been born to a happy mother, or a sad mother, or a mother that didn’t want him, or an adopted mother, who knew. But he entered the world in the same way I did, new and crying.  I wondered what had happened to him between then and now. Where had his life gone so wrong. What drug fuelled state had kept him running and moving despite his injuries.  Why was he unarmed and on their roof (the speculation of those in the know is that he was hoping to take a solar panel).  In Gauteng you would have been held up.  Where we stay, in our little area, we don’t hear of armed driveway hijackings, we don’t hear of armed invasions (in some suburbs around us yes, but not like the chaos of our previous Province, Gauteng) Now we have petty opportunistic theft yes.  In our street alone there have been robberies of braais, garden furniture, bicycles and much more.  One lady was held up, but they didn’t hurt her or threaten to do so.  Simply took her TV and bank card and off they went. I could not stop wondering what if …. What if he had not run in the wrong direction and fell two stories ….. what if he was desperate and so the solar panel was an option …… what if the paramedics got there quicker ……. What if what if.  Which is pretty daft hey.  But my husband concurs.  This was a human being. 

Had he been armed, I would have felt differently I think, fight or flight I would have fought back with whatever it took.  However this felt different. 

So be vigilant people. It could have ended very differently. 

I decided yesterday that the deck is my special place.  There is still a stain that I cannot get off it.  But it is my place, and I won’t let his memory taint that for me. 

Till soon 

c’est la vie 

PS for some reason my posts of late 2023 and some of 2024 have disappeared on my profile.  Weird. 

So how is your week going? Yes I wrote this blog a while ago. 

I have tripped going up (yes up, not down the plethora of steps up to our house) - one lekker blue knee

I have gone to the Boks parade in CT with hubby.  We had a fantastic time.  We also returned home with his brand new birthday phone having being taken out of his pocket and me having stuff stolen out of my rugsack, including a fountain pen which my dad gave me just before he died.  Yes I carry it on me, I am one of those unusual people who write with a fountain pen —- lists, notes, anything. Did we not notice the stuff being taken? No, in a mob of tens of thousands of people.  No. 

I have booked some brand new book titles at the library.  Many of these are books of my favourite authors, released after October this year, and in our library care of a grant.  R10 to reserve the book. R380 to buy it at Exclusive Books.  You do the maths. 

I have had some bad news about something huge.  It is pretty catastrophic.  As always the wheel turns.  And when we are finished dealing with this shitshow of a situation, I will try hard not to wish bad fortune on this person. I may have to pray for forgiveness instead.

I have gained 2kg because I am in a bizarre state, like a baby, where I only go to bed after 4am.  Every single day. If I get into bed earlier, I lie there till 4 or 5am. My therapist has now explained to me what has to be done to “reset|” my body clock.  It involves one very tough day. The weight is not due to 4am, it is due to one horrible situation after another this year. Big ones. As my son asks “why do such things happen over and over to good people”.  Please don’t quote to me anything cutesy about life.  Not now. 

I have been given an ASTOUNDING gift by my son - 4 days at the ultra luxury game lodge where he works as a Field Guide / Ranger.  It is luxurious, let me tell you.  Extremely so, and I am getting all the bells and whistles, VIP, amazing everything, courtesy of him. Also I get 2 game drives a day with my awesome, talented and knowledgeable son.  I am counting down the 13 days to go. 

I have been blessed that I am going to Pretoria again in 10 days and will see my sussie and my beautiful chef girl.  Which means I can eat at the restaurant.  And see my bestie for as we call it “a debrief”’ - which is just formal speak for skinner, laughter, food and catching up. I will get to go and sort out dad’s clothes with my sussie, at the house, see Joey who has been so lovely watching it and then we are getting together at dad’s favourite Spur the day before I come home, to celebrate, as a family, his birthday. He and mom loved going there. 

I have won a beautiful clivia in a raffle at the Helderberg Animal Welfare.  One of our beautiful doggies we have, was adopted from them and I will do anything and everything I can to assist them. Perhaps the reason I enjoy helping them is because people treat dogs like rubbish and then they end up there. They cannot speak, and I will help to be a voice for them. 

So those are my “I have” for the week …… what are yours?

Till soon 

c’est la vie xxxx