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

Spar ..... there you are

So I am a bit of a junkie for a new store.  I want to see and know.  Not every brand that opens, but as you know me by now - if it were a coffee beans or capsule store or a coffee shop, I am camping over. 

So a brand new shiny Spar came to our hood.  We are excited around here. We were desperate for one. The closest shiny one is the Superspar in Grabouw and that is a road trip, not a pop to the shops. There is another one, but it is in need of a revamp, redo, liven up job. Coming from Pretoria 2 years ago, where massive and impressive Superspars are everywhere, the lack of one here did irk.  

So with online fanfare, and a long construction period, the aforementioned shiny and new Gordons Bay store opened yesterday at the Mountainview Mall, complete with ribbon cutting, parking bursting at the seams (that will still be addressed and finalised) and happy owner pics.

Since the parking situation was being kept up to date on social media, we elected to go at 630pm.  Parking was adequate and although busy, the store was not maniacal. It is impressive upon entry.  Bright, different, modern and the first thing that my eyes hit was Sip. A coffee, pancake, donut, cake, all things lekker to eat section.  Front and centre. Having just had a snack, we did not sample, but it seemed popular. 

What did draw my adult son's eye was the Grill Bar.  It is a Spar Hot Foods to take home counter (like stores normally have) that got married to a very lekker new concept section. The Fire&Grill menu offers a big choice of Prego rolls, Flame grilled chicken, Seafood and much else and the Chikka Chicken section has burgers galore from Cheeky Chikka, Double Stack all the way to Hot Chikka wings. Chips optional. My son chose a rib burger and chips. It was R35 which is a very substantial price challenge to other places. It was a great meal. R35 to R45 is the average cost here. Definitely worth a test drive peeps. Lekker crispy chips. Also well packed and sealed for transporting. 

Now let me tell you now ..... best face forward is something I learnt in fuel station retail, and I have a big desire to see store management teach their packers this concept. On all products - grocery items, fresh produce and through to cooldrink fridges. They had it spot on .I will watch with interest if this is kept so. It adds hugely to the aesthetic of a store. Woolies Foods Waterstone Village obviously is the platinum standard of this. it would be great for Spar to join them. I was in wonder of an entire fridge door of 6 big shelves, just dedicated to a lot of different types of crushed garlic. Immaculately packed.

The refrigerated shelves offer a mouthwatering array of ready to freeze or heat up meals. Not just the standard fare. Brands like their own Freshline, lie side to side with the Pasta Factory, The Family Kitchen, and others. A great rack of Asian and Mexican items to rustle up interesting meals and many other brands fight for shelf space. Neatly. You are really spoilt for choice. Definitely look into the El Burro Chipotle Chili and Lime Tortilla chips. Yummy. Healthy is your thing? Step two steps to the left of the Chili guys above and drown in great sugar free and healthy eating options. Spar also has an impressive array of their own brand vegetarian meals, giving the well known brand a run for their money. 

Many retailers are defined by two very specific things - the meat section and the fresh produce section. These are both Spar-worthy. The glass door covered selections are really good. The doors are clean. Both sections are well presented and will for sure, especially the meat section, pull from other retailers with great cuts placed neatly below their neighbour's prices. Meat and chicken must look fresh ... and this certainly did. 

The shop fitting is unique. They have modern and chic lighting and they manage to make the greenery and wood fittings look very smart and not like cheesy plastic décor.  They must surely be receiving lots of comments about their granite walling by the tills. It is truly a work of art. 

I didn't see, except for the medicine and toiletry aisle, boards marking what is where in the aisles, but I may have missed it. 

Pricing is a tricky thing in life. However just like very price conscious people (and with fuel prices, most are), if you know your prices you will find that most stuff is the regular price. Spar has their own specials on fast moving lines or those items that are vital e.g. loo paper and cheese. These pamphlets will surely find their way into our 2 local knock and drop newspapers each time. You have to look at your basket total as a whole.  But that is normal.  

And then the make or break of many stores - the staff. Everyone is really on point on day one, but it is day 2 to forever that matter. Given that, the staff went beyond good levels. Friendly, smiling, no cashier muttering or anyone making you feel like you are an intrusion, instead of the customer. The supervisor apologized that we had to wait to have a double scan of an item corrected. It was literally five seconds. High 5 to the management. I was also impressed with their till system where the drawer does not ever open. Advanced and safe. I assume this means that no supermarket cash withdrawals can be done. 

So. No blog is worth its salt if it only gives golden accolades and no less positive observations. To be clear - these are personal observations. 

It is weird for me and a bit off putting to have the crisps / chips / popcorn shelves directly opposite the laundry powder, softeners and bleaches etc. Those, plus hardware and pet stuff t are a logical group in the aisle, and then spot the odd one out .... the chips. I wish they were with their friends, the groceries. Also, the store has the sweets along the till queue line, not on shelves. All supermarkets used to do this, but you can no longer dawdle and make your selection without disturbing the queue. Probably better for my self control. Chocolate is my weakness. 

And then, probably my biggest disappointment. I am a coffee addict. We are power coffee buyers, especially capsules and then filter coffee. We have a variety of machines at home on a counter (even a "coffee bar" sign - that is serious) . And there .... like a beacon of light ...... Nespresso capsules. The real deal. In a very impressive assortment of blends. Both the normal size ones and the fancy new Vertuo ones. And then I saw the pricing. The normal retail price for the "old" type is between R92 - R98 for both the "plainer" and the limited edition ones. From Nespresso stores and well as retailers in Stellies and CT that sell them. The Vertuo ones are in the R125 to R135 vicinity at those stores. Spar does not seem to clearly discern between the usual size and the new big ones, despite the big price point difference, and the shelf packer was unable to locate any at the usual R92 to R98 price range. He did point out one normal sleeve for well over R100. A store with the Spar buying power and a company like Nespresso would have found a way, just like Starbucks and Vida do with Checkers / PnP, or Vida with Woolworths, to keep the instore price exactly the same as the retailer price. So that was a pity, especially when the two people next to me also changed their minds when they saw the mark up. I would have been a great supporter. The only other option is the different strengths Spar brand. No Terbodore, L'Or or others. So it will be Somerset Mall Nespresso who will earn my purchases, or a competitor, which is a great pity. 

Martin, Christi, management and staff ..... wishing you huge success and a lot of joy with your new venture. May the doorstep see many footprints.

Go support them people - they are worth it. 

The nitty gritty fun of moving aka you thought you knew it all

Let me tell you, just in case you ever plan to move, have an unplanned move, are forced to move, decide to do something spontaneous or such. 

You. Are. Never. Prepared. For. What. Lies. Ahead. 

Unless you are a serial mover.  Or have a minimalistic home décor lifestyle.

We were neither of the above.  We had last moved in 1996. That's a long time till 2019. 

We didn't have the minimalistic thing.  We had the maxi-malistic thing going. 

So, in the interest of the common good, let me give you these snippets of wisdom:

• Buy double walled boxes. You'll thank me later. There is nothing worse then packing a box, picking it up and having the entire content spill all over the floor.  
• When you think about packaging tape, think large, think "out of the box" (get it?) - don't get those shrink-wrapped packs of 10 or 20 rolls.  Don't buy a box full.  Rather book one of those shipping containers and buy that amount of rolls. Buy one of those little gadgets that you can roll the tape from one side of the box to the other, because by box 50 you are sick of the manual method.  And NEVER lose the open piece of the roll - never, because it will take you longer to find that place to pull the tape, than the move itself. 
• When booking your box estimate with the movers, calculate an estimate based on what you have already packed. Then multiply that by 632. 
• Buy bubble wrap. A lot. See packaging tape rule. Remember you are going to need a lot extra for all the times you walk on it or pinch it between your fingers to hear it pop, just for fun. 
• Mark boxes. I found the Pinterest method of writing on each box e.g. Kitchen or Dining Room or whatever.  I said I found the Pinterest method.  I never said I used it.  I tried. I really did. But then I got the "mixed" items boxes, a bit like making a mixed tape (in the 1950's) so what did I mark it then? Kitchen/Garage and a bit of Bedroom? 
• Number boxes. Make a list of 1 to 100 and each time you mark a box, cross off that number.  Focus. Else as in my case when the mover arrived, my son asked why we had 3 x number 16.  2 x number 44.  No numbers 7, 23 or 70.  OK, I got a bit distracted.  
• When the boxes are delivered to your new address, cross off the numbers as the boxes are carried in. Due to the issues around the numbering above, and despite the movers having numbered as well, we seem to have lost 2 boxes. Part of the problem was that I was still hyperventilating whenever I thought of the packing up of the garage and "that" room at previous address (to be enlightened about "that room", read my previous blog post). In addition, the movers arrived at our new address whilst I was fetching my daughter's boyfriend at the airport, to surprise her.  Naturally we arrived home to 4 rather sulky adults who had found it stressful to handle this event without me. Imagine. They couldn't manage the movers arrival without the person who couldn't number the boxes correctly in the first place. 

I do have dozens of more moments of wisdom, but let me leave you with a final snippet.  We have 2 large dogs and 2 small dogs. A husky sheds tons of fur. If you open the window for her head to be a out a smidge, the car interior looks like New York in December. Snow baby. Our Alsatian was 10. She just wanted to get the 1600km move done. With whimpering for the first 362kms. Our Jack Russell found it necessary to swop sitting in the front and then in the back, 493 times over the 1600km. That was after double the dose of Calm Eeze for dogs. Our Piebald Daschund only wanted to sleep under the seats. They were not seasoned car travellers. In fact they were not car travellers. Full stop. Little ones in one car and big ones in the other car, we did this. We will not do it again. Trying to get them to pee at the allocated stops, was difficult.  As was getting them to stand together, or stop growling at each other, or drink their water. It caused squabbling and irritation amongst the 4 of us. On three separate stops on the journey my husband considered divorce :) we ended up yelling at each other at more than one fuel station. You are warned. 

Moving is not for sissies. Thousands do it. The next place I go will hopefully be heaven. You don't need luggage. But not now. 

Till soon 

K xox

Okay so lets move to another province

“The company feels that there are great growth opportunities for it in the Cape” says hubby whilst we are sitting on the stoep of our chalet in Sondela Lodge about 9 months ago.  “They want me to go and start up the business from scratch and then be the boss of it”.

I look at him.  “Permanently?”, I ask.  Because surely that is not what he means.  Already all the implications of that have run through my mind at the speed of light.

“That is the idea - it is a fantastic opportunity and you know how I love the Cape”, says aforementioned husband.

Yes, I think.  I also love the Cape and every time I used to visit Jess here before she came back to Pretoria, I would, I admit, think how lovely it would be to live here.  But that does not mean that I thought about it so seriously that I was going to up and move my 53 year life from Pretoria to the Cape.

I burst into tears.  “That is exactly the reaction I told my boss I was going to get”, says he.

I immediately say the obvious things - what about our home / the kids / my parents / my job / our church / the dogs / my hairdresser - nail salon - dentist - doctor - vet / all the places I know / a city I grew up in / my friends / my best friend .... the list was endless.  A whole shopping basket.

He tried to set it out in a positive manner.  The office would be at the Waterfront in a beautiful vdevelopment under construction.  I could look for a place in the Southern Suburbs.  The dogs would obviously come with.  Think how often my parents could come and visit.  And my friends.  And my best friend.  New hairdressers etc can be found.  There is so much for you to do in Cape Town .... he really tried.  In hindsight it must have been awful for him.  He was so excited and here I am just collapsing in a heap at the prospect.  He must have felt there was a huge struggle lying ahead.  As the months ticked by, it became more and more of a reality, but my joy was very very slow in appearing.

He had to go back to work in Jhb the next day and I stayed at Sondela with Nic and a friend for the next 4 days.  I was miserable.  All I could think of was moving to a place where I knew no-one except my best friends’s best friend (yes that was weird I know) . Hubby would go to work every day with colleagues and I would just be alone.

I came home and we never spoke of it again.  Perhaps if I ignored it, it would go away.   As the development got closer and closer to completion, hubby was travelling  up and down to CT all the time, pursuing business and looking at the progress with his boss.  The date kept moving .... first Jan, then March and then July and boom ..... suddenly a fantastic offer came up for furnished offices in Stellenbosch, the lease was signed and 1 April became the day.  He told me that he was not going to drive and sit in the traffic forever from the Southern Suburbs as he had already spent a lifetime sitting in the traffic to Jhb for 2 hours morning and night.  He loved Gordons Bay.

In the middle of March hubby and I flew down to Gordons Bay to look at houses.  We spent 2 days in Cape Town while he worked and I meandered everywhere.  We got to Gordons Bay.  All I could think of was seaside village.  Somewhat like Umdloti.   But this sea, this sea is unlike anything I have seen except in Mauritius.  Still, flat and on sunny days, as turquoise and navy swirled as you can imagine.  But it was a seaside village.  The main street along the beach had a book shop, coffee shop, all sorts of everything shop, an icecream shop, a vintage shop, an incredible fish take out shop, a hairdresser,  a few little eateries and a shop of gemstones, reiki and other stuff.  Oh and a vape shop.  That is all the walking distance stuff.  By car you will find a short distance away 3 brands of supermarkets, a Woolies Foodmarket, Clicks, Pep, SpecSavers, the usual takeaways and one or two more.  No big retailers, no movies, no other shops, no branded shops, no big clothes shops, no Mr Price - for that you have to drive to Somerset West ..... about 20ish minutes away where there is a big mall with every shop you could want in it and surrounded by the other upmarket stores and shopping centres .  My great love however was that I had googled GB and found that they had a 2nd hand book store.  This book store is more like a book hypermarket in an old house by the beach ..... it is mind blowing the amount of stock.

I clearly remember sitting at the little coffee place on the beach, tears running down my face and telling hubby “I will never fit in here” ... I am not used to living where there actually is nothing and maybe I am too loud for Gordons Bay.

How God must have laughed as he looked down at me, thinking my child if only you knew.  Do not worry about tomorrow - I am already there and I know the plans I have for you.

In between hearing that we need to move, and March, two major things happened.  I finished off at my job at the end of December, so that meant I did not have the trauma of having to leave my job to move.

Later on, a lot of stuff happened and my best friend and I parted ways.  It did not matter whether I was moving or not.  I was shattered.  And I miss that friendship all the time.  I like to think that person misses the friendship as well.

So the end of March rolled around.  Him, Nic and I packed up everything he needed to take and set off on a road trip to GB.  We slept over at Colesberg and Nic got to see an entire side of our beautiful country that he had never seen before.  Eug had by a stroke of luck found out that the owner of the guesthouse we stayed in in March, was not only an estate agent, but also had a beautiful place 100m from the beach, which she agreed to rent to Eug for 5 months.  Jess flew down when we got here and we spent the 4 days getting groceries and unpacking and sorting Eug.  We walked on the beach morning and night,  I made my mandatory visit to the book shop and us 3 returned home with a serious collection of books.  Suddenly it seemed a bit more homely.  I was at the coffee shop everyday.  We bought incense and gem necklaces at the beach shop ... we explored the neighbour hood.  Suddenly I found my heart turning.  It was everything that my childhood city was not.  Quiet.  Absolutely beautiful sunrises and sunsets on the water.  This little area on the beach road is where everyone hangs out and it was creeping into my heart. The thought of walking our dogs on the beach. The sense of community.  The cleanest place I have seen.  The lack of insane taxis.

We went home.  For Easter hubby came home for 2 days.  Then at the end of April Nic went to him for 10 days.  I have been here for the past week.  And just like this, I now call 2 places home.  Here and Pretoria.  I have explored and know everything around here.  The coffee shop people all know me by name.  When I come here they remember me.  The bookstore staff recognise me.  I also always come home with piles of books and when I go to GB I take piles of books for them.

I have already located a new nail and massage and everything else place - Gordons Bay Wellness - I went there today and was astounded to find that her life was so much like mine ... her husband came to work in the Cape.  He relocated from Gauteng alone and they followed afterwards, just like us.  Even more bizarre was that she not only grew up in the suburb we stay in in Pretoria but in the same street, just a block away.  Sometimes you just click with someone.  They laugh like you, they chat like you.  Somewhere in my heart I think that this is going to grow into a lovely friendship.  She has also told me where I should cut my hair.  Good sign. From her I also learnt where hubby can go and renew his licence disk and get a CEY number plate.

So now?  Now I am sad to leave tonight .... to leave my hubby and to leave GB.  I have a renewed sense of urgency to pack up 23 years of stuff in our house and get the damn painting finished.  It has to be put on the market because I cannot move until it is sold.

“The company feels that there are great growth opportunities for it in the Cape” says hubby whilst we are sitting on the stoep of our chalet in Sondela Lodge about 9 months ago.  “They want me to go and start up the business from scratch and then be the boss of it”.

“Oh what an exciting and wonderful new adventure for us”.  That is what I should have said.

Be good to yourselves.

c’est  la vie xxxxx

Tentacles of anxiety

Anxiety

Anxiety attacks

Panic

Panic attacks

We read about them. We see programmes in which people suffer from it. In all probability you have a friend / family member who suffers from it. In all probability you have a friend / family member who suffers from it and you are not aware of that. In some cases you may have a friend / family member who suffers from it and you think they are overreacting / over dramatizing / looking for attention / pretending or as one former ”friend” of mine told me - you bring it on yourself. Clearly a fool.

If you have not felt the physical effects of a pending attack, if you have not suffered the horrendous feeling when the attack grabs you and if you have no interest or sympathy in this growing phenomenon in society, then this would be a good place for you to stop reading.

I suffered from panic attacks as far back as 30 years ago. It never had a name, it was never diagnosed - it was a dark hole that gripped me without warning on a regular basis and it created a part of me that lingers. I had to deal with it and where it originated from, on my own. It went away for 8 years and then in my 30’s it crept back, but sporadically. Then about 9 years ago it crept up again. And went away. And then 5 years ago it slunk quietly closer and closer. It is a slithery silent creature. It festers and grows on the overstressed, despair and feeling of being lost people. It does not set up a large warning signal ... it comes slowly and leaves you knowing gradually that it is pending. For me it arrives when I am in a traumatic or very stressed period. The unexpected shortness of breath, walls closing in, too big or under reaction to everything until one day in the middle of anywhere, it grabs you, usually sending people around you into a panic as they try to assist you, if it happens in a public space and you are alone.

Then followed many many years of me escaping from its claws - I was the winner, but I knew that it was there, quietly hidden wanting to see if I could beat it for good. Meds? Yes. Daily, taken with others for other reasons. The additional ones I only take when I know that I am in trouble. Medical research has found that taking these is like putting up a hand and holding the attack at bay.

Who do we share this and other issues with? Be careful. Most people are quick to play MD and diagnose you as a loony, a mental case or simply crazy. Foolish labels from foolish people. Last year I decided to share very openly with someone the real name of this disorder. Funny thing is that if you have cancer, you get sympathy and support and love. Same for any other disease. But you see, this one is officially recognized as well. Officially supported by medical aids to the extent that they are forced to cover it, so it is the same. Lifelong. Can it kill you? It could. Depending on when you eventually feel your back is against the wall. Back to the person I told. I trusted them and it took very long for me to tell this friend. And in return they very quickly used it as a weapon against me. Shared it with others. Used it as ammo. The fallout was quick. I then decided that I would write this. I am not alone. I am one of millions in the world who battle with this. Two years ago my parish hosted a talk by someone on this issue - everyone sat and nodded their heads about how awful this must be. I stood up and addressed the stigma in the Q&A session. Some people were supportive. One felt it was attention seeking. I have realised that by focusing on me, this person is avoiding dealing with his/her (to protect them) serious addictions. Mine is a disease. This persons’ is a repetitive choice.

In the last months I have had to work through something which flung me brutally against the wall. It broke me, then caused havoc in my health and then slowly, with the help of many reasonable people I dragged myself up to a place where I felt I had my footing back. Sometimes we find ourselves in a situation where we are partly to blame, but no matter what there are very very seldom situations where one side is 100% to blame. But very often someone is the “fall guy”. I learnt many lessons about loyalty. Get a dog. And please, before some of you get hysterical, don’t erroneously decide you know what I am talking about and wind up the rumour mill. Just get on with your own sometimes flawed lives.

So months of stress and issues were then escalated when we became a commuting family. My hubby 1543 km away working in a fantastic new position thanks to the company he works for. A blessing. A challenge in leaving Pta after 53 years but the grace of living in this little seaside town, peaceful and away from the city, and only 25 mins from Stellenbosch where the new offices are. That and the beauty of me and Jess (Nic is leaving to study in July) or perhaps even just me, having packed up, sold the house and got here permanently by year end. Nic and I visit as often as possible ... down at the seaside. Jess is in the restaurant trade .... that is more difficult to get away from. She is happy in her job but she, like us, misses hubby/dad awfully. We all came down end of March together to move him into his new temporary home and I am now on my 3rd visit here. It really is like my 2nd home. I have people that recognize me - in the book and coffee shop naturally - I know where everything is and he lives 100m from the beach which is fantastic. Literally everyone knows everyone else when you come to the regular hang out coffee place by the beach.

I came down because hubby had a birthday yesterday and because I needed a break from being without him at home. I was anxious. It had been winding itself around me gradually. And then it swooped, sensing my vulnerability. Panic hit me yesterday ... publically ... in the book shop. A lady came over. I managed to write down on a cash slip what was happening. I needed a paper bag. She went to the coffee shop to get one. I sat on a bench. She did not know what to do so she ran to buy tea. It passed. It left me breathless. I have for two days taken my additional meds that my absolute incredible darling specialist sent me a script for. The crisis I was dealing with for last week has been solved. I breathe. I tell the bands of anxiety wound around me to piss off. I breathe more. I have 5 days left here. My hubby is going to fetch me now after work and we are going to walk on the beach below where he lives. I will put my toes in the water. I will thank God that he is always holding my hand. I will remind myself not to worry about tomorrow, because He is already there. I cling to my Faith always.

I thank the friends and family who do not nag or question me. They just understand.

I bid farewell to those who don’t. They add to the problem.

My hubby, son and daughter are my permanent life jackets.

And I remember that tomorrow is a brand new day.

Be good to yourselves.

c’est la vie Xxx