THE dress.THAT dress.

 So. I have a dress for the wedding. 

You may wonder why this requires its own line, like an announcement. When the mother of the groom goes to look for, and buys, her dress only 8 weeks before the wedding and 7 weeks before she leaves for abovementioned wedding, everyone gets a little “twitchy”. It is not like I did not have 18 months to pick one. 

Now we all know the drill. And by the way if you are perfect sized, slim, thin, curvy and sexy or any of those, then the next paragraph will not apply to you. I generally feel that what you like becomes your only real choice as everything looks good, one way or another, as opposed to us who not only have to try and choose what we like but also have a challenge around what looks good on us. Because my shape is round. 

Number one when your son announces the wedding date - you immediately decide that you are not going to look fat on the wedding photos. This is a worldwide phenomenon. You then start one of many diets, each one stressing you a bit more. The date gets closer and closer, the pressure gets more and more and before you look again you are eating vast amounts of chocolate and are no further, or in my case, just lost 5kg. You know what? It actually doesn’t matter. Unless of course you cannot find a dress you feel great in 😂 - then it would matter a great deal. 

So over time I collected 347 pictures from Temu, 809 off the internet and the infamous “mother of the groom” pages and 12839 random pics from social media, where I liked the top and not the bottom of a dress and vice versa and then also, after having wanted a certain colour all along, jumped around with what colour I was now lured by.  All this because due to a clash, the original choice I was going to have made, and wanted for the past 2 years, could not be used, for a few reasons. 

Now a side comment about any website featuring “mother of the groom” dresses. In these photos it seems that all mothers of grooms are aged 80 and above. All of them want the twin set and pearls or long dresses with a very certain stereotypical top, and have their hair up in severe chignons, wear elaborate family jewels around their necks and look like lead characters in either Bridgeton or The Adams Family. It also seems that you need to have a certain haughty look about you. I do not comply with any of the above. My hair usually looks like its normal I just got out of bed and was then driven over by a lawnmower style.  I don’t do haughty and I am not over 80. The other options bizarrely seemed to have women more in my age group with very wide satin skirts and slits in them up to their panty line. I would end up looking part hooker and part mental patient. My son would be mortified. 

And so I decided to have a dress made. Now my almost daughter-in-law has a seamstress mom. Not just any little seamstress. One whose work is beautiful, especially evening dresses and wedding dresses. She made all the dresses for the Bridesmaids and Matron of Honour. Given that she lives in Pretoria, and me in the Cape, the back and forward visiting of the kids just never worked out for getting my dress made by her. Which would have been a fantastic solution as she knows me well. So began the search for a seamstress in my area. Now I am not sure what illusion I was under, but my total budget seemed to mostly be one that covered only the material. That became a protracted crash and burn scenario. 

After the 300th person I interact with at work became concerned about my lack of dress, my one close friend, in a stricter voice, said, “right - Monday we are going to Canal Walk when you finish work and we are not coming back until we have a dress”. Now that was the kind of instruction I needed. So on the appointed day off we went, her and her lovely daughter, and me - the mother of the groom. Next thing we were pulling up at the very very swish entrance to Bride & Co. I felt a little intimidated as we walked into what can only be described as something similar to those stores you see in TV reality shows. Hundreds of dresses, packed colour by colour in every colour under the sun. An elegant saleslady approached enquiring which selection we wished to look at. Mother of the Groom / Bride is such a section. She glanced over at me, asked me to turn, didn’t ask my size and glided off to a long rail of dozens of stunning evening dresses.  She took off 3 dresses from different places, all with the wow factor, and said she felt these were the best start for me, covering one which was her first choice, one her second choice and one not suitable but needed to be seen. 

Now it is important for me to mention at this junction, that all my jeans come from PEP. They are the best for me in every configuration, regular, skinny, stonewashed, dark blue - the whole shebang. And I am a wear sneakers 5 days a week girl. So when I discovered that the changing area was a small row of changing rooms, from which you walked onto a large wooden floored platform, in the middle of which was one of those round things you stand on with your dress with mirrors everywhere and perfect lighting, I unashamedly admit that I did give a little shriek, then peeped  around the cubicle curtain and said to my little gang - “it’s just like a movie”.  There was giggling, from me. A lot. The saleslady commented that it was lovely to see someone “so unashamedly excited”. A few steps down are elegant couches where your “style gang of friends” sit and look and comment and suggest. So for clarity - me on the circle. Renet and Maree on the couches. 

I chose the first dress to try on because it was very me, and when the lady took it off the rack it was like she knew me personally - because in the two days before the shopping trip, Renet had seen something similar elsewhere and I liked it. Similar but not the same by any means in terms of fabric and finish. Bride & Co only make 2 dresses of every size in every style. This dress was whispering - “I’m the one”, before I even took it off the hanger. Swishy, soft, shimmery, elegant and a colour that I did not originally have in my wheelhouse. I put it on and I just knew. More giggling as I alighted from the changeroom. I turned to the mirror and I felt like a fairy princess. The cut, the shimmer, the colour - it was everything I wanted. My squad were delighted. We just all seemed to know. 209 photos were taken. Renet said that I had to try on the other two as we needed some context. Number 2 was a challenge. It only closed three quarter way and we realised that it was just “too heavy” for me. You needed more height to carry it off and no-one ever calls me tall. The saleslady said that she needed to show me that the heavier satin was not for me. Number 3 looked beautiful, until I had it on. We looked at each other and uttered the same description at the same time. So back into number 1 we went. I knew. 

However my ever practical squad suggested we go to the store in the Mall which had the dress she had sent me the pic of. Now please understand. After Bride & Co, this was very different. The dress would not have been exclusive. We were handed it and I went into the changeroom. After 3 minutes of laughter I realised that whilst I had it on, I appeared to have gone wrong somewhere (it had layers and draping in all kinds of places) and was unable to lift my arms or turn my neck. Enter Renet to assist. She decided that the floppy bit on the left needed to be dragged over my head. It didn’t, and the end result had us shrieking so loudly that the shop assistant asked if she needed to come in and help. However my mind was made up. A quick stop at another store for a beautiful wrap, a celebratory lunch and back we went to the original dress. And lo and behold - winking to us from a nearby shelf was the most perfectly sized and chic bling handbag for the dress. I put it on again and Renet made a video just for Nic showing him his mom and talking just to him (he was working in the bush at a game lodge, with no signal) and then made a video call to Jess. Once we had all finished crying and Maree had 3028 photos, I parted with the cash (not a little, but it is magnificent) and we drove home, slighty hysterical about the day, crawling in traffic and still laughing about the bizarre dress in shop number two. I will never be able to thank the two of them enough for both going and giving opinions as Maree is about Jess’ age and added context. And for Renet who put her foot down around going to shop. 

My shoes will be delivered this week. Nothing over the top. Just a super well priced sale online at a local store. If they don’t fit it won’t be a train smash. I will find others that are pretty and we all intend to wear sneakers when the dancing hots up. I also found beautiful earrings in a store, which I loved at once. 

So finally. The mother of the groom only has to have her hair tinted and her nails done in the 3rd week of August and off I go to Pretoria the week before the wedding. 

With joy and excitement, tears and a snip of the apron strings, the gratefulness that I am getting such a wonderful, talented and family orientated daughter in law and that Nic is marrying the lady of his dreams after 7 years together, we are counting down us two families. Two families where the parents and all the siblings love each other. I know my boy will be a phenomenal husband. With a phenomenal wife. 

What more could a mom ask for. 

Till soon

c’est la vie

A bit of this and that

So readers - I have so many drafts and cannot choose, so I decided to rather do this fun one that bloggers pass around to each other, all over the world, once a year.  So if you know all of these, you must be family or close to me, if you know some or none - here is the lesson -

Favourite food - Pizza and Poke bowls 

Favourite drink - Cappuccino and more cappuccino. Heineken Zero shandy. 

Favourite season - Summer. I’m a beach and ocean swim girl

Favourite chocolate - Gold Lindt Bunny. But since that is seasonal only, Cadbury Wholenut and Cadburys Tumbles shortbread choc *way better than Whispers or Chuckles* oh my word. But those Lindt bunnies ……..

Favourite scent - Clinique Aromatics White and Georgio Armani “Si”

Favourite TV programme - any crime series or thriller particularly involving an elite police squad - or serial killers and police profilers. Also love local Afrikaans series. And Netflix documentaries.

Favourite sport to watch - F1 F1 F1. Followed by Premier League football, then cricket, then rugby. 

Favourite book genre - same as TV programme and then local African writers. Not really a romance reader.

Favourite book genre non fiction - politics and autobiographies 

Favourite part of job - the parishioners and for admin hard to choose - love it all. And yes, I’m happy all the time there.

Favourite colour - mint green

Favourite dessert - Baked cheesecake or Mc Flurry from McDonalds (they have a Speckled Egg one now!!!)

Favourite brand - Converse All Stars 

Favourite song - Currently - changes all the time -  By Your Side;  Turn Down for What (thanks Jess);  A Te;  Stick Season;  il filo rosso;   Leave me alone (when I asked Nic he said Absolutely. It’s a goodie hey). So I am all over the place when it comes to music.

Favourite chips - Tomato sauce and Lays Cranberry

Favourite pastime - journaling, reading and my blog.  And beach, beach and more beach

Something you probably don’t know about me - don’t eat olives, want to paraglide off Signal Hill, have always wanted to write a book

Favourite greeting - ok my whole family is laughing so we won’t do that one. Second one is - I promise . Parishioners will say it’s “hello my friend” to them. 

Favourite car - I’d love a mustang convertible

Favourite Bible verse - Romans 10:17 So faith comes from hearing through the word of Christ and Mark 5:19 Go home to your own people and tell them how much the Lord has done for you. And always “for I know the plans I have for you says the Lord ……..”.

Favourite saying - Where you go, go with your whole heart. 

So till soon

C’est la vie

Xxxx

Lent. Let Go and Let God.

 So Lent. How is yours going? 

My hubby gave up reading. He and I each read in excess of 100 books a year. Now this is a tough one. I don’t think he knows what to do with his hands or earphones early mornings and during the evenings. He is like a smoker in withdrawal. I would be the same. I think the instinct to pick up a book is for us a natural one. We can happily read a weekend away together. I admire the effort it is costing him. 

My Lent? What exactly it contains is not for this column. However I will say that I am leaning more towards the “will do”s” as opposed to the “won’t do’s”. As usual I do my 40 days of Lent letter writing and as always it interests me to see the responses. Some phone me in tears. Some send me a meaningful message, some almost shrug it off (ok one did and I was not surprised), but one very surprisingly seemed to not realise that this exercise means something to me. Maybe the nonchalant response was meant to teach me something. Even God has a sense of humour. But it hurt me. And they will never realise how much. There is something I will tell you - in one of my never ending Uber trips during the ongoing car saga, I had to have the driver do the round of libraries viz Somerset West, Strand and Gordon’s Bay, before taking me home. Our books are always from book sales - like at our parish, or very often the plethora of libraries we frequent. The driver was fascinated that I had books to return to all three. When he parked at Strand Library so I could run in, he told me he had never been in a library. 42 years old and never been in a proper large library. What privilege we sometimes ignore in our lives.. Well come along I said, when he had parked, and into the library we went. I gave him the grand tour, like a member of staff. He loved that there were books and audiobooks, magazines, places to sit etc. I got him a membership form - you don’t pay to belong to a library, they explained he needs a copy of his ID and proof of address (he had it from his savings acc) and two references. I told the library to use me as one (they want to be able to find their books if needed). He drove me again three days later. He had joined. And taken out one book. And that - that is part of my “will do’s” of Lent. Will do more of, not less of. 

One step at a time. One deed at a time. That is what we are called to do. 

Till soon 

C’est la vie 

Xxx

Costume oh Costume

It is that time of the year again. Buy a new swimming costume time. Because I spend a lot of time on the beach and in the sea, my costumes tend to only last one year. I have wondered since the sea is right in front of me 24/7, why I have never considered getting 2 or 3 costumes a year given the time I spend down there. 

But I digress. The costume thing. Costumes and changing rooms at stores, are not friends. Having a front, side and heaven forbid, back view all at once can be both frightening and traumatic. Now those of you who are slender, and that does not have to mean younger, just slender, may not know this. I now know a lot of women my age and older and many of them are slender. 

I am referring to the more "round" shaped people of the population. Like me. Someone taught me that phrase - "my shape is round". I know you get apple shape and pear shape and all types of body shapes according to the experts. Mine is round. Think more Oros man. And I say this with great love about myself. The boep is real. So is the butt.

I used to always buy one-piece costumes in the last 2 dozen years before moving here to the coast. One did not simply go on the annual or bi-annual holiday to the coast and put yourself and aforementioned boep into a bikini. It was simply just not done. Unless you fall into the slender category. Now granted many people just prefer the one-piece, irrespective of their age. One of my late parent's friends, a lady I have known for 58 years, has lived by the sea since forever, and never worn anything but a bikini. She is now in her 70's - I don't imagine her in any other costume. 

When we moved here to Gordons Bay, we did so for a work opportunity. I arrived 6 months after hubby and we knew no-one. 4 months later Hello Covid and any dreams of visiting the beach were shattered as we queued 200m apart at Checkers to go in and sweat profusely under our masks. I then decided that living literally a stone's throw from the beach was wasted by getting so only half tanned - which meant tanned arms and legs and lily white torso. A bit like a liquorice allsort sweet. So in came the bikini in 2022. I took several sizes and types and went into that hellhole also know as the dressing room (cue Jaws movie music). I put the first one on and a huge shadow loomed up behind me. I shrieked, only to discover is was my rear end reflecting in the "rear view" mirror. I had to take a break in Woolworths and go get a take out coffee in their coffee shop. It was going from arms and legs showing to everything showing as if you were wearing underwear. It was a lot. I am usuallly nicely tanned 6 months of the year, because on our deck I get tons of sun also, but going to the beach and suddenly exposing the liquorice allsort torso to its first sun in six years? Let us just say that much aftersun was used and Disprins taken. 

When the next Summer arrived I realised that the previous bikini had now served its time. I found this out when walking from my towel to the water and realising that my costume pants elastic was making it less of bikini bottom and more of thong. You know when elastic has done its time and your pants get that look like a baby on the beach wearing a Pampers nappy full of sand.. That look. So it got replaced and lo and behold I had gone to a smaller size. 

Last year I bought an even more fabulous one with large yellow flowers on. My daughter is fascinated that I am so unabashedly able to lie on the beach and walk to the water and back with a lot of parts jiggling. There is admittedly a lot of movement. I told her that if people want to look, or talk, or say "kyk daai vet vrou in die bikini", then c'est la vie. I'm getting tanned, reading a book, eating an ice-cream and having the best summer's day, whilst you are doing the people audit. 

Sadly, when I started Spring with my swim on 1 September this year, like every year (yes it was freezing cold and the wind was howling), I discovered that I have my beautiful yellow flower top from last year but appear to have mislaid the pants. So I had the Spring swim in the top that fitted and the bottom from the previous year that looked like the Pamper nappy full of sand style. The pants hung low, a bit gangster style. 

So me and the changerooms have an appointment at the stores for the 2025 upgrade. A new costume is the only item that I ever buy at Woolworths. Not the only item that I want, just the only item that I ever buy there. The want in Woolworths list is very long. Their bikinis just work for me. 

And that rear mirror? I am now at the stage that I try on the bikinis and usually turn around and say to that back mirror - "what the hell are you looking at?". 

Celebrate your body as it is now. Yes you should probably eat less sugar and more protein and less that and more this and blah blah. But celebrate that body. Mine will be on the beach soaking up the sun, boep and all. 

Till next time, 

c'est la vie xxx

The rug sack of small stones

So along came Mel. And told us to "Let Them". Yes, I like millions of others, have the book. After all, let's not forget that it shot up the bestseller list and by making us believe that her rules of life are the only ones to be followed, she banked several more millions of dollars. 

I believe a lot of Let Them things however I (like many, many other reviews, including some serious writers), believe that the term became a bit much - I listened to the audiobook and her Let Them phrase every sixth word became almost as annoying as the wanna be Duchess of Sussex and her tendency to now use the word "yet" at the end of every sentence. What Mel seems to miss is the fact that her theory is not one that no-one has ever thought of, practiced, heard a life coach or psychologist or someone tell them. Eight years ago my psychologist (yes I had one, today it's like having a hairdresser or nail tech), told me that you cannot wear all the problems of those around you, like a coat. People will have to grow up and deal with problems in the big world. Almost eleven years ago when I completed the very long and intense Lifeline Counsellors Course, one of the presenters brought along a rug sack, filled it with rocks, put it on her back with much difficulty and indicated how we pack everyone's problems on us. Point taken. To an extent. 

That was actually a longstanding theory, except that they didn't have a specific name for it and didn't make millions. 

Now there are, as I said, things that she is very smart about. But what irks and concerns me is that there are people who begin to live the book like a coat. There is a very thin line between adapting her ideas to fit into certain areas of your life, or many of them, or those that turn her book into a cult - because that pushes you into the area of arrogance. Thanks for the info of your life, but let me go back to my world now.

Let Them (and Let Me - also one she loves), can very quickly become "you and your life and your experiences are nothing to do with me. I see them, I hear them, please and thank you but go on your merry way. My life is about me. Just me".  Mel has told me that I must not worry about others too much. Just Let Them. Just Let Me. And my life. Fall down? I'll step over you to cross the road. 

I let go of that which does not serve me. I think if she looks she will find that she did not write that sentence. It came into existence forever ago. I somehow think that Hebrews 12 and Matthew 6 in the Bible, beat her to it. And I don't think they meant it in such a calculating way.

It is hard to let go a bit. If you have children, you will know this. If you are a victim of abuse, it cannot be understood by someone else, and this goes for hundreds of things every day in everyone's lives. So let me say I am practicing 40 percent of the book, or trying to, but I have realised that I don't have time for all the hocus pocus, because I don't want to look at others and 100 percent say "not my problem". Rich or poor, famous or regular person, whichever - I think the Let Them and Let Me cult is fast turning into a Me Cult only. A "I hear you" but it deserves none of my time. 

I will rather be the person who puts my hand out. Several days a week I hear of, see, communicate with, people with so many sad issues in their lives, there are a lot of heartbreaking things going on in people's lives. People tell me things. They always have in my life. They probably always will. A great part of my job is dealing with other people. It is the reason I love it so much. The one on one - the stories of holidays and grandchildren and books read and so much more. 

For some in my career, this is never happening (I know several people in the same job as me). It happens to me and my life is so blessed and full because people feel "safe" with me. My brain is a minefield of information that just is safe there. I can just say "oh that is very sad, I commiserate but on you go". However I don't want to be that person. 

I will give an extra hour if I can help you, I will sit on the step and give you a hug and mop up tears, I will buy you a coffee, pray for and with you, put on a cheery face for every single person who crosses my path in the day, even when I am dealing with so much lately. If I can make a call, do something or give something to help you, I will. When my son's wedding had to be postponed at short notice (the big day was supposed to be 4 Oct) and my daughter was hijacked the following week, I showed up, smiling and kind, because that is what I have to do. In return so many, many, many people were so kind and generous to me. There were those that surprisingly completely ignored my messages to say what had happened, or never ever asked for an update - disappointingly it says so much about them, and nothing about me. But it saddened me - it should not have been that way. I must mention that it was a traumatic situation that led to the wedding postponement and not any issues between him and his awesome fiancé. 

I love to go to my job. Every day. I interact with incredible people, more than I don't. I love to spend time with people in my own free time also. In both cases I am listening to their stories. I learn so much from one of my Priests who has so kindly drawn me, just as Karin and not as Karin the Parish Secretary, into a small group that teaches me, as we teach them, so much about humility and the challenging lives of others. These young people have become a wonderful part of some Saturday mornings. Sharing our Faith is beautiful. 

Yes I am the one that hugs the Rastafarian on the beach when I see him - because he loved meeting my mom, he made her a special bead necklace, as a gift, and gave her other items in the one time she came here before she got so sick. She just wanted a picture "with the nice Rastafarian". He always asked about her health, and he cried when I went to tell him that she had passed away. Those are the people I want in my life. I know a young man, who is currently writing exams at University (no, not my son).  I know his subjects and I make sure I always contact him to wish him luck before he writes and ask how it went after. I was stunned when I found out that he is studying, his life was an assumption that I had incorrectly made about him. Those are the kind of people I want to play a role in. I always know everyone's business. And that is a good thing. A safe thing. And I take it as a compliment. 

So I cannot cripple myself by loading 5 stones into my rug sack of every person I see/talk to/ help in my work and personal or family life. 

But I will always take some of your stones - I can carry them in rotation. Let Me. 

till soon

c'est la vie x

For reference I am talking about the "Let Them theory" by Mel Robbins. 

Can’t even think of a title🤣

Simple post - what is and isn’t a miserable life?

Miserable life

Struggling to find work unless you married to a millionaire

Having no fuel

Finding out at 10pm the filter coffee for espresso machine is finished

A broken vacuum cleaner

Someone throwing a rock at your car

Losing your parents

Losing your parents while your life is falling apart

Losing my beautiful pet, Pepper

Spending 673 days packing up a house

Being left an expensive house that needs some repairs that could have been done if all things were equal

Knocking coffee onto a library book

Friends who tell you that you have to drink decaf 

Not a miserable life

Knowing that you were unemployed because someone else was a *

Speaking the truth - not accepting blame for someone else’s inappropriate comment 

Not always having a ton of money

Being unemployed - challenging but not miserable

Living 400m from the beach

Inheriting a house 

365 days a year view of ocean from our deck

Lots of board games

Being unemployed

Incredible pets

Beating hubby at Scrabble finally 

Knowing which friends and family have your back 

Having filter coffee in stock 

I repeat the job one. Because just because I didn’t have one. And we had both worked for the same company, and that would be a shitshow for anyone, it doesn’t make mine a miserable life. Or make me a loser. 

You can have lots of money and not be happy And sometimes people call other people losers instead of focusing on their own messy lives. 

It is what it is. And if you find yourself in this blog. That’s on you peeps  

c’est la vie 

Not miserable 

Xxx

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

The Intricacies of being an Heir

 There are things they don't tell you when your parents die. 

There are things you are not prepared for when one parent dies and the other one is still alive.

There are things you are bombarded with when both your parents die in quick succession. 

This blog is not a who should have known what and by whom should it all be known, piece.  This is a "hello everyone know what is coming your way and ensure you have your ducks in a row for your beneficiaries and heirs one day".  Obviously tiny estate, tiny problems.  Big estate, big problems.  However the paperwork stays the same. When I say heirs, I mean the main ones responsible for supplying info and packing up.  In the natural flow of things this would be the children of the deceased. If there are no children, make sure you have tasked someone with this. Obviously this often does not apply to all heirs. 

My dad handled all the affairs, both financial and other, in their marriage. He paid the accounts, he managed what money was invested where, he made the financial decisions, he filed every document from the dog wash slip to the statement of his investments and he was the carrier of all information. This was both a blessing and a curse. You don't have to tell the heirs the value of every investment and policy, but the info they will have to be handing over, cannot be a secret. 

As mom passed first this year, we would naturally have looked to dad to lead us in the monumental amount of documentation and information needed by the Attorney handling the Estate. He would have been there to help us pack up and share / distribute / take mom's beautiful things. Furniture, belongings and 80% of the house, would go on as normal and stay. However as dad was very ill when mom passed, we didn't have this guidance.  When he was home for 2 months from hospital, before he returned there, dad was not always able to have discussions about serious matters with us, or he neglected to have them with both of us, which led to an unnecessary confusion now, of things that could have been prepared before. Dad then passed two months later and my sister and I were dumped head first into what we will call (cue Jaws music), The Estate. There should be no surprises for your children / heirs.

Now dad had / has a very savvy Financial Advisor that had kept dad, and my sister, per dad's instructions, up to date on all vital things. Unfortunately dad and mom's will was not drawn up with an Attorney (I have subsequently learnt why this is unusual), which would have meant that all documents viz Antenuptial Contracts, Title Deeds etc, would have been lodged with the will at the Attorney in a Fire Proof safe (also learnt this from an Attorney). Be warned about this. Their wills are completely legal etc etc but the paperwork is annoying for those left behind, when not at an Attorney. 

A fantastic law firm was appointed then to deal with the Estate. This has created 293472039 emails between us as we bat our way through the paperwork. 

1. You have to supply to the Attorney, the name of every single bank account held at which bank. The name of every account held anywhere, including municipal accounts, levies, garden services and all other.  You must be able to supply the account numbers.  Very often you have to supply a copy of the last statement. They too will check for those you may have missed. 
2. The above means that either you must put the last statement in a file each month, or your children must have access to your email account to get to this information. A suggestion is that you place a list of all these institutions and your account numbers, in what I will refer to as The File. 
3. Attorneys will then get the amounts due on these accounts and once the Letter of Executorship is received, close them all.  Be prepared for the closing of all accounts, especially bank accounts. 
4. It is advisable that you have your bank login details somewhere secure for heirs to access one day so that they can at least see what is what when you have passed. 
5. You have to supply the ORIGINAL marriage certificate and the ORIGINAL Antenuptial Contract. Don't try and buck the system with a photocopy.
6. You also have to supply the ORIGINAL Title Deeds of paid up properties. If you cannot supply the original (dad didn't tell us where it is), you will pay R6 500 for each one you have to get from the Deeds office. Remember that this money is coming out of the Estate. It would have been helpful for these to have been in the Attorney's safe. 
7. Ensure that your originals of 5 and 6 are also in The File. If you lost them, get them before you pass away.  Like get them now. 
8. If your family owned Timeshare, this is a whole song and dance. Let the Executor deal with it. 
9. Your families' cars - these can be sold via the Attorney (We Buy Cars seems to be the option of choice) and the money paid into the Estate.  However if an arrangement was made between the deceased and an heir, prior to the death, it must be honoured.  Such an amount as agreed will be deducted from the heir's inheritance. Should they not inherit enough cash to cover the car, that will be interesting. I am told that in a will, a beneficiary cannot be punished for inheriting. 
10. If you have expensive jewellery (or important such as wedding rings etc) and valuables - please decide before the time who will get what. Very often this can be decided in a nice way amongst you and your heirs upfront. This way it can be distributed to them at the time (or earlier) without fighting and everyone has something that was meaningful to them. However if you cannot play nicely and this has not been done, either beat each other, play ching chong chi or put the names in a hat.  Tongue in cheek. 
11. If you own property, or more than one property, have a plan in place. Don't just let them roll into the Estate and leave the heirs to make decisions. One property inherited amongst several can be a shambles as the likelihood that you will have to sell it and split the money, is huge. Difficult if not all heirs want to sell. If you have properties equaling your amount of children, sort out who will get each one. Much easier. And more civil. Thus happiness. If you have a bond on it / them, take this into account when you get your affairs into order. Tell them. Don't surprise heirs. Don't forget things like for example DSTV decoders. If you inherit a house and want to continue with the service, you have to arrange for the decoder to be moved to your name and billed to you. These little things - WIFI, decoders, mobile accounts etc, can be overlooked. 
12. A have a friend whose divorced mom owned two weapons. She didn't licence them on expiry each time. Now she has passed away and this has become her daughter's problem. Licensed weapons can be sold and the money put into the Estate. Unlicensed weapons have to be handed in to the SAP to be destroyed. This fell to her to do with the paperwork supplied by the Attorney. 
13. Nothing is fast. Policies pay out quite quickly depending on who they are with. Property is a long process. Wrapping up of an Estate is a long process. In the interim, the heir apparent becomes liable for expenses on that property, so keep them to municipal accounts, levies, garden etc so that his can be submitted to The Estate. Should there be urgent maintenance e.g. a major electrical fault or leak or such, ditto.  However if you decide to paint a wall or fix a broken thing like a cupboard, that is already for your own account. Ensure your heirs understand this concept. It is quite a surprise when the first month's bills roll in.  Should you rent out the property, you need to notify the Executor. Such an income is then included in the Income and Expense account submitted to them. 
14. Importantly you need to remember that if you have a bond on your house, owe on your cars etc, the amounts after these being sold may be less than what you owe.  This could deplete any other money in your Estate. Make provision for this. 
15. Have. A. Will.

So this is roughly what you are facing. Along with the initial arrangements of undertakers, a funeral and all that goes with it, packing up, mourning, comforting others. It is all encompassing. Save your kids / heirs from the shock. 

Start The File. 

till soon

c'est la vie xxx

Number 3

 

She carried the swimming costumes towards the changing rooms with a determination she did not feel.  Clasping them against her body in case anyone saw her and assumed she was going to go out in public with one of those on.  “Three items” she muttered to the change room assistant, and clasping her large plastic “3” she scuttled into the last cubicle, before she changed her mind.

It was the taking off of all your clothes that was the most irritating to her.  The three costumes were now lined up on hangers against the wall, in order of preference.  Not necessarily sorted by colour, but rather by “first impressions”.  Number three had beautiful bright pink daisies on it – a one piece costume, like the others (she was not trying to scare the children on the beach), it screamed summer, sunshine and seaside.  None of the attention she wanted, but she had been unable to resist bringing it in. She slid into contestant number 1. Perhaps slid is a bit of an exaggeration, it was more of a “trying to put on a wet suit” kind of scenario, but with a bit of tugging and tucking in, she was in it. It was a sedate navy number, low cut around the hips, high cut around the bosom, with thick straps over the shoulders, assisting in lifting the girls.

Swiveling slowly, she observed a dark shadow slowly creeping up the mirror.  She swung around to the curtain, expecting someone to be standing there, only to discover, to her horror, that the dark shadow was her.  Her rather protruding above the rear thigh area, slowly darkening the mirror.  She pulled down the bathing suit in one painful move of shrieking elastic and slapped it back onto the hanger.  Unfortunately, the sight of her now, in merely her panties, was in no way comforting.  Perhaps it was the beige, or the cut, but it was not inspiring. Well she had come this far, she thought, so might as well get completely depressed.  Number 2 stepped up for her turn. A more mottled green colour, this one had crossover straps at the back, reminiscent of a school Speedo, but still high up and low down in the necessary places.  Putting on number 2 had brought number 3, with its pink daisies, up to the front.  If only, she thought.

Getting into number 2 was challenging. The crisscross ended up being more criss than cross, and she found every bit of herself oozing out between the bits of strap. Turning to the mirror she saw what can only be described as a round seashell covered in mottled green seaweed and algae.  She looked like an ocean blob. Imagine that alighting from the sea on a hot summer’s day. It left her body as fast as number 1, which had in the meantime slipped off its hanger and was lying on the change room floor in an unwanted heap.

Well, that is that she thought. No need to go any further. Out of the side of her eye she saw the pink daisies, almost daring her to try them on.  What the hell, she thought, I’ll show you. In her heart she wished that one day she would be brave enough to wear such bold colours again, as she had as a young lady in her 20’s, when her love for the beach and sea first started.

She prepared herself for the struggle. It did not arrive. The costume seemed to be of a more stretchy fabric and it slid over her body easily.  She was now severely suspicious. Obviously, there was going to be some other flaw.  Looking up into the mirror, she gasped. Unbelievable. She stared. “Number 3”, she whispered to herself.

Looking back at her from the mirror was a beautiful sight. A young lady, resplendent in a floral costume with the most beautiful daisies. Moderately cut over the hips, not too low and not too high, with a crossover front, which flattered her bosom and went upwards into two acceptably medium width shoulder straps. She smiled and the young lady in the mirror smiled back. The young lady who had from the age of 20, loved the beach and the sea.

She slipped out of the bathing suit and into her age appropriate clothes. After ensuring she had all the costumes, she opened up the curtain and stepping out, glanced back at her reflection. Her bright 85 year old eyes twinkled back at her.

Handing 2 costumes and the number back to the changeroom attendant, she smiled and gaily said “number 3 is coming home with me”. 

The pink daisies smiled. They always chose well.

till soon 

c'est la vie

xxx

The Man in the Arena

 So when is being enough, actually being enough. 

Times are tough out there.  Not every company that got hammered in Covid, survived.  Many companies did and it is business as usual. Many companies are dragging themselves along, half winged, in a desperate attempt to survive. 

If you are in the latter, it is like the Man in the Arena.  If you have not read that little piece, I will add it at the bottom of the post. You see, when you are outside someone's situation, it is very easy to tell them what they should have, must have, could have done.  It is very easy to say they brought it upon themselves, got what was coming, never budgeted. 

My dear people, every one of us cuts our cloth according to our income.  And if I ask you, yes you reading this, if tomorrow your income stops, through no fault of your own, or is quartered, would you be able to cover your expenses month in and month out.  If you say yes, then you are either a) with a massive nest egg rainy day savings or b) lying. If you can easily afford a car costing X, then why should you have to explain why you bought it.  If a pandemic worldwide destroys your income, and causes you unable to pay, how is that your fault?  If you buy a house of value Y, because you can comfortably afford the payments, and Covid/Corporate greed/Economy/or other reasons, causes a company to close, pay late or other, and affect you, how does that make you inept? 

If you find yourself unable to suddenly cut your cloth to the income, but you make every attempt to scale your life down, that is responsible. When your outings and happenings on social media are mostly free, loyalty paid, cheap or otherwise, that is OK then.  Don't look at social media and assume otherwise. If your posts are sponsored, but also include a wide range of lavish things that you clearly state that you pay for, and you are financially in trouble, that my friends opens you to other questions. 

Why is it then that people must question. Investigate. Have opinions on your life?  However when those very same people become cash strapped, then everyone must feel sorry for them. 

In a weird way I always will. 

No-one asks to be kicked in the teeth, not everyone got where they are because they deserve it, no person wants to be doing sums 24 hours a day. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be in a relationship with someone who fights 24/7/365 to fix what life handed them. 

So for the busy bodies, opinion giving, judgmental and such folk. 

Focus on your own lives.  Just that. 

till soon 

c'est la vie xxx

62 days

 62 days. 

Just 62 days ago a life of 83 years long, gently slipped away.  Not with clanging cymbals, not with fanfare, not needing us to make the difficult and final decisions pending, just a gentle slipping away, connected to many machines, doing many different things. 

Dear Mom,

When the hospital called and asked me to come as quickly as possible, I knew.  When the nurse said they couldn't discuss it over the phone and that I should drive carefully, I knew.  Loadshedding robbed us of getting there a few hours earlier, since in loadshedding your house becomes that bastion of zero signal. They couldn't reach me. But they assured me that it would have still been the same news. There would not have been time to speak to you. 

Goodbye. I said it. The evening before. You know that I had arrived 8 days earlier, just 8 days, knowing in my heart and mind that this would be the last visit that you would be part of. I had asked the hospital if I could visit after 8pm on that first night, straight from the airport.  And something incredible happened.  After not communicating except in mumbles for several days, you opened your eyes, said "oh my goodness, oh my goodness, look how beautiful you look.  Stand at the door so I can see. I love your dress and now I have this stupid outfit on.  Look at your nails so pretty, and mine look terrible".  I know those words by heart.  You were there mom, as always wanting us to be like you always were, well groomed.  You closed your eyes and I sat with you for long.  I didn't know then that those would be the last lucid words you spoke to me, in fact literally the last words you actually spoke. I came armed with my Rosary and a small bottle of Anointing oil that I had bought on my trip to the Holy Land. I prayed and you rested.  

I had that ritual with you for the next 7 days as well.  I prayed the Rosary and you listened.  I know you heard me.  When the doctor finally made the decision to connect you to the feeding bag, I knew that time was ticking faster.  I asked Fr Daniel to come and perform the Last Rites, it was an overwhelming moment.  

The day before you slipped away, my beautiful friends from the Women's Association back home in Gordons Bay, prayed the Divine Mercy for you at 3pm.  Although I missed the 3pm, I decided that day to skip the traditional Rosary and do the Divine Mercy.  When I finished, you reached out both your arms to me. I knew. As dramatic and theatrical as that sounds, I knew. 

Do you remember me whispering that we would look after dad (traumatically in another ward in the hospital), that we knew how long you had suffered and it's okay to let go. We love you and we will be okay. When I kissed you I hoped that I was right. Yes, you read correctly, I hoped that I was right.  I hoped that you would be released from the pain, your body which had said "no more" and was failing you, the quality of life you no longer had.  I didn't want that to continue.  

Mom do you know how peaceful I felt when I left the hospital? And even though when I arrived after their call (knowing full well what was waiting), even though I fell into a black hole of sobbing for a long time both in the sister's office and at your bedside, I knew that letting you go the night before was the best thing I could have done for myself. Even though I was waiting for Bee and Jess to get there in land speed record time, even though I had asked the nurses to call me when they walked into the ward as I did not want Jess and Bee to race into the room unprepared for what they would see, even when they called me to say they were there and I had to come into the passage and tell them, even when we went downstairs and I had to explain to a not completely lucid dad, what had happened, even then - my heartache was governed by being the eldest, being the strongest, being the one whose other half was 1600km away. 

Arranging the undertakers over the phone felt surreal, but the peace still enveloped me.  Years of working at the church had geared me towards knowing what, where and how. 

When the very respectful men fetched you, my little sister had already fallen to pieces. I sent her to sit downstairs with her hubby and waited to walk a little of the way with you in the passage. Your Jessie was there, holding my hand, 3 generations of strong women, down the passage we went. 

The worst calls in my life were to Eugene and Nic.  Eugene felt a million miles away and desperately worried about me. Your grandson adored you more than can be comprehended.  And Jess thought her granny was greater than the sun. Calling your brothers and sisters felt like a mountain and one call to my dear niece, set the ball rolling as she took over the task for me, along with an aunt. 

And then? Then it was just a blur of calls, messages, arrangements, Jess' birthday 6 days after you left us and mine then 7 days after that sad day, which also became your funeral day. Before our birthdays was too quick to arrange and after our birthdays felt like too far away, so I decided on my birthday was perfect.  You brought me into the world on that day 57 years before, and I said goodbye to you on that day 57 years later. On Jess' birthday we went to her and Dyll's home and had a little braai and birthday celebration.  On my birthday the next day, the eve of the funeral, the kids made me pizza and as a family us 7 celebrated.  You would have insisted that we celebrate our birthdays. Everyone had someone, and my heart ached that Eugene could only fly in at 7am and out again at 7pm on the funeral day.  No-one comprehends how it was to be the only one in the family without my "other" around in the house. But such is the life of a home full of pets. 

Did it run smoothly those days between you leaving us, the funeral and the after? No. Bee and I were dealing with an abnormal situation, feeling like 2 orphans.  You were gone and dad was seriously ill in hospital.  He was mostly unable to help us with the arrangements, the vast amount of decisions, the choosing of so many funeral things, the writing, the sourcing of dozens of photos. Who will do what. When will it be done.  Should this pic be large or small, do we use this one or that one? The interactions with family, the having to handle it all. And in-between we had to go up and down to the hospital to deal with our other trauma there. We eventually discovered that not speaking to each other unless necessary and about the funeral, just simply became the best space in which we each could navigate the storm around us.  We are not unusual.  Two friends who recently lost their moms told me the exact same story about their siblings, or some of them. Even in the aftermath of the funeral, they are still often at loggerheads.  Grief does that. It creeps in at different speeds.  But we will survive mom, we always do. We go through waves of very close and somewhat strained. This is not a normal situation that we find ourselves in. Dad is very ill.  It's a lot of heartache all at once. 

Mom remember in the movies we used to chuckle about fridges full of food when someone passes away? We were kindly supplied with lasagna's, pies, quiches, pizzas, pastas, salads - we could have fed an army in the time that we never felt like eating. Bee and I each have a beautiful gifted orchard that we took to our homes. I know how you loved an orchard. Imagine me mom, boarding a plane with a handbag, carry on luggage and a big white flowering orchard plant in a pot.  The air steward fetched it from me during takeoff and landing and it was stationed in the coffee trolley for those 2 times. When I had to go to the loo, the guy in the seat next to me held it.  I can feel you rolling your eyes. He also handed over several serviettes to a weepy me. When the plane took off it felt like I was leaving you behind. 

So this year has had 83 days so far.  I have spent 51 of them in two trips to Pretoria.  It seems like a lifetime away from Eugene, our home and the pets. I came home less than 2 days ago.  I need a week to decompress.  Dad came home to your home last week, he is confined to bed. It's a sad story. 

But this post is about you. 

Happy 62 pain free days mom. 

I miss you 

xx