UNBELIEVABLE

My son has been without a job for a few months.

The history behind this is not mine to tell. For it would unleash a great big story which, at this moment in time, is not appropriate to reveal.

But, he is without a job.

He has applied for many jobs.

Being white-skinned doesn’t help.

It’s AA. It’s EE. Or it’s BEE or it’s something else, as long as you are dark-skinned!

During the course of applying for jobs, he has to give his ID number which he has done on numerous occasions.

The last job he applied for had the agency coming back to him to inform him that he had a criminal record for ‘ illicit behaviour’.

He was panic-stricken.

This is a guy who was brought up with the strictest values and morals. ( Not that I’m suggesting that he is an angel. Not that I’m suggesting that he hasn’t taken a chance or two. BUT he does know the difference between right and wrong and I believe that, in the end, he makes the right choices.)

He didn’t even know what illicit means.

He took himself off to a police station in the hopes that they could enlighten him.

What had he done that could prevent him from getting a job?

The police officers looked it up on the ‘system’.

And they laughed!!

My son, 7 years ago, was caught by the Table View police, having a wee at the side of the road, late at night, not a soul in sight. I can vouch for that. He is a very modest person and would not make a public display of himself.

At the police station he was offered the choice of either paying R50 admission of guilt or spending the night in jail.

He paid the admission of guilt and, unknowingly, got a criminal record!

And he has only just found out!

Now I ask you this.

Is there a man in this country who has not taken a ‘slash’ somewhere?

Men have the most convenient equipment. ( Which tells us that God is most certainly a man.)

Is there one single male in the whole of South Africa who has never peed or wee’d or pissed or whatever you want to call it, at any time, wherever?

We live in a country which, to my sorrow, has a high rate of assault, murder, rape, hi-jacking, child abuse, theft, armed robbery and so on, and so on, and so on!

Excuse me for being angry! ( And excuse me for having a quiet giggle because it is just so ludicrous!)

My son has a criminal record because he was caught short, late at night, and relieved himself out of sight.

WELL DONE, TABLE VIEW POLICE! WE ALL SLEEP MORE SAFELY TONIGHT BECAUSE YOU CAUGHT THE PHANTOM PISSER!!!

Unbelievable!

Does anyone know how to get rid of a criminal record? Or does it haunt you for life?

And do I now harbour, in my home, a criminal?

A DIFFERENT PLACE

We have been here at OASIS LUXURY RETIREMENT RESORT for just over a month.

A friend of mine said in amazement: “ I can’t believe you guys have booked yourselves into this place.”

Nor can I! ( But she makes it sound like a loony bin or a rehab centre and as far as I know, we just signed a lease!)

The last two years have been dreadful and perhaps I wasn’t paying too much attention. I think my brother-in-law’s sudden and unexpected death perturbed the dear man more than I realized.

I think the suddenly swift sale of the house, after 3 long and drawn- out years, precipitated a rash decision?

I don’t know.

All I know is this.

Here I am. Perched in a very nice apartment, 9 floors up from ground level. Sort of being in an eyrie.

It is much more than what I was expecting. It is bigger than the average Edgemead house.

We have a large living area which has managed to accommodate most of my lounge furniture as well as my dining room table and chairs.

We have a large master bedroom with a small dressing room and an en suite bathroom.

There is a second bedroom, also with an en suite bathroom, and a third bedroom with its own bathroom although it is not en suite ( just across the passage).

We also have a fully fitted study with ( oh joy!) double desks. One for me and one for the dear man.

The kitchen has a lot of cupboard space. In fact I have some empty shelves and am beginning to regret all the things I gave away so ruthlessly.

We have a small scullery, one of the few things I don’t really like. I do like to have a source of water in my kitchen and don’t enjoy having to traipse off into the scullery to fill the kettle.

As little extras, there is a guest loo and a long balcony as well as an outdoor patio, right up top of the roof because this is called a penthouse.

I love having the outdoor space and the dear man has already planted some herbs in pots and we did bring some roses in pots from Plattekloof.

The spare bedrooms look disgusting and I fear even to look at them.

Our bedroom reminds me of a hospital ward. Sterile, plain and stark.

All the windows have vertical blinds which is my second worst nightmare. ( The first worst nightmare is face brick!)

OH But sorry!

Scrap the first worst nightmare. Face brick goes to second and vertical blinds to third.

THE first worst nightmare IS A GAS HOB!!!

I have always been scared of gas. At Leentjiesklip in our Plettenberg trailer home, we had a gas hob and a gas oven AND a gas hot water geyser.

They used to pop and spit at me. When we had to light the oven I always felt that we were trying to commit suicide!

I hate gas! But everyone keeps telling me how brilliant a gas hob is.

Caroline tried it out the other day. She surveyed her dried- out spaghetti sauce and mourned: “ I think gas is all or nothing, Mom.”

I reiterate: I HATE GAS!

I have spent the last month working out what I can cook without having to use the hob. Challenging!

Oh! I forgot to mention that every room in the flat has piped music ( if you so desire) and a television screen, and that includes the kitchen!

We have a huge unit in the lounge with all the stuff that men seem to love and, at last count, there are 12 remotes! A big screen projector hangs from the middle of the lounge ceiling ( how elegant! How me!) And there is an automatic big screen that descends when you feel like having a movie night or watching sport. Enough to keep any man happy!

But to get back to gas. It doesn’t tiddle and you need tiddle for a fine curry or stew or a pot of soup! Gas simply has no tiddle in it!

And what a bugger to clean! No more just swiping a cloth across the hob. Oh no!

It’s remove the cast iron stands, scrub them and rub them. And after that, clean the shiny black glass and then clean the burners and then re-assemble it all. And then do it all again tomorrow.

Gas, as far as I’m concerned, can go to a place where a lot of gas usually explodes from. And I don’t mean the gasworks!

Apart from the thinking of what to cook without using my hostile gas hob, I spend a lot of time on the balcony.

We ARE 9 floors up, not easy for someone who battles with heights. I don’t but the dear man does. Fortunately, the balcony has frameless glass which protects you from the wind ( which is horrendous here in Century City) and it also provides a barrier from ‘the drop’ of 9 floors.

I spend my mornings on the balcony. Ironically, I look straight back at the Plattekloof Hills where we once lived, not all that long ago.

We do not have a view of the mountain, something that I miss so much. We have a GREAT (?) view of the refinery which is not attractive during the daylight hours but which is very pretty at night.

I have decided that with each post from now on, I will have a little comment called ‘FROM MY EYRIE’

So today: FROM MY EYRIE

The lady who parks her car just across the road and who walks her two Alsatians on the grassy area there, has a new puppy. It gambolled along quite happily with its bigger companions.

Lovely to watch but makes me miss our big fellow who left us just over a month ago.

Too many changes

I miss my beautiful house.

I miss the views of the mountain and the sunsets and the pretty lights.

I miss my dog.

I miss my courtyard garden with the fragrant herbs and the vine which should be just about ready to shoot.

I miss my daughter who was always there for me. We did not always agree. That was healthy. But she was a good friend to me. We had a lot of fun together.

I miss my little robin family that was becoming so tame and so cheeky.

I so miss my two little magical grand-daughters who made me laugh and rejoice every day.

I grieve for all that I have lost.

Where do I go from here?

Why did it all have to happen at the same time?

I know I have choices to make.

I just hope that I make the right ones.

Everything that I thought I had has been taken away from me.

Where do I go now?

So pathetic, this post, I know.

I suppose it is all about choices.

I need to make up my mind.

My dear man got an e-mail from a 'friend'.

It said, " Old age is not so bad. It doesn't last long".

Is that what I have to look forward to ?

Faithful Friends

When I was expecting my first baby, we acquired our first dog. He was a Pyrannean Mountain dog; a huge and majestic fellow. The breed was known as 'the gentle giants', and that he was.

Gentle with our children and very protective towards our family.

We have always allowed our dogs to be house dogs which caused a few problems. Napolean, as he was known, chewed his way through all of my cushions, tore down my curtains, ate pieces of carpet and did a few bits of gardening too! Whole young fruit-trees were uprooted from the ground with a huge ball of soil attached. He was a powerful animal!

When fully grown, he would stand on his hind legs, put his paws on my husband's shoulders and gaze down at him.

He was a loving dog. We had him for 11 years before he had a sort of stroke and had to be put down.

Next on the list was Andrew, a Yorkshire terrier. We had really gone from one extreme to the other even though Andy was not a minature.

Yorkies are small in stature but they have the spirit of a Rottweiler. They are tenacious and cheeky as well as highly intelligent.

Andy was a lap dog and a great companion. I would talk to him and I swear he understood every word. Not a destructive dog, but very difficult to house-train. We reached the stage when he had made a puddle in the house, he would bring me the floor-cloth to let me know what he had done.

He was 6 months old when we got a second dog. Oleg was a Bernese Mountain dog. A really beautiful animal with the loveliest nature. Because Andy was number one dog, he took it upon himself to be the pack leader. How ridiculous! Ollie was 20 times his size yet he accepted Andy as the boss. And when Peter went away on business, Andy became the boss of me too!

Sadly, at 4 years, Ollie started having fits and the vet established that he was diabetic. Nothing much could be done for him and so he had to be put down.

Andy was 16 years old to the day when he died. he was going blind and deaf and the day after his birthday, we found him floating in our swimming-pool. What a shock for us all. We buried him in our rose-garden and I placed a little plaque there to honour him and his loving companionship for so many years.

We decided there would be no more dogs. But 8 years ago, instead of a ring for our 30th anniversary, I got a bull mastiff puppy. We called him Winston. He was the baby of the family and we guarded him rather than the other way round. He was good-natured, playful and devoted to the dear man. When the little girls came along, I was worried about how he would adapt.

No problem. When they were babies, he found them a curiosity.

As they grew, he learned they were a good source of snacks and so he was always to be found in the kitchen at their meal-times.

But as they got bigger, he grew fonder of them and would wait at the top of the stairs for them when they came home after being out.

You may have noticed that I have been talking about Winnie in the past tense.

That is because, this morning, he paid his final visit to the vet. He has been sick for a long while, battling with a bacteria in his system that refused to be quelled. Three months ago he was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer.

After four lots of pills he finally gave up. The latest pills were not even finished.

He was a very sick boy this morning. We had no choice but to do the deed. The vet was in total agreement.

So now my house is even emptier.

But I am grateful that he died while he was still here. There were big changes coming for him as he was going to stay in Langebaan with the little family because we were not allowed to take him to our apartment with us.

He would have moped for the dear man, I know. He would have been puzzled.

So it all ended as it should have.

We have been so lucky with our 4 faithful loving canine friends.

So much part of our lives.

In our memories forever.

Rest well, dear Winnie.

By the way, two weeks ago in Langebaan, the dear man and I took him for a stroll on the beach.

The dear man showed me the little cove where he planned to scatter Winnie's ashes.

So it will be.

Moving On

So many people, just lately, seem to be moving home.

Perhaps, it's in the planets and their alignment?

All I know is that I am moving home.

It is not easy.

My dear man and I have been married for 38 years.

We have been in this house for nearly 13!

So much has happened here, not least that my two little grand-daughters have spent the greater part of their lives here.

They are not coping well. They watch as the things that have been part of their lives are removed right under their very noses.

Amy came home from school on Friday just after the removal people had been.

She hung onto the door-frame and moaned, " Oh No! where have the tables gone?"

I explained that they had gone on a holiday and that she would see them again soon.

She was happy with that.

The house is rapidly becoming empty.

My son, who doesn't visit often, remarked last week: 'It's all looking pretty bare.'

So it is.

What I am happy about is this.

The house is being emptied of furniture, carpets and art-work.

But I look with a critical eye and I know that the 'bones' ( for want of a better word) remain good.

This house will work for anyone. It is gracious, it is classy and it will work for anyone, no matter what their taste is. That pleases me.

For me, it was a labour of love. I have loved this house beyond measure, for all sorts of reasons.

But now, the dear man and I are busy throwing out huge parts of our lives.

Today, it was his turn. He had to tackle his study.

Boxes and boxes of what was his career, his dreams, his projects and his life.

I know it hurt.

It is what was . But now it is over.

Today we had an unexpected message to say that the man, Jon Levin, who ran the little kiosk at our shop, had died this morning. He was Jewish so the dear man had to phone around to find out at what time the funeral was.

Jews bury their dead swiftly. The funeral was at 1'o clock.

So the dear man got dressed quickly and took himself off to a very wet and cold funeral.

He is, because of his history, well versed in the rites and rituals of Jewish funerals.

When he came home, he was visibly upset. He wished us all 'long life' for that is what Jews do at funerals.

It made me realise that throwing material things away means not a thing.

I still had a loving man to hug.

That will make the next 2 weeks so much easier to bear.

Don't Stop! Don't Think

Today I have been sorting out my stuff.

This...to go to charity.

This...to go to Langebaan ( which, by the way, is just becoming a storage facility for the things I can't make up my mind about.)

These bits and pieces are received with great joy by Rodwell ( our gardener and handyman) and Mary, my domestic helper.

I was about to throw out 3 decanters which are very beautiful but quite superfluous in our lives. I already have 3 antique decanters from my aunt which are lovely, except that they are lead crystal and so can probably poison you while you enjoy your tipple of choice.

But I decided that I did not need another 3.

BUT! Then I stopped. Then I thought.

I decided that I could not get rid of them. An article in the latest Taste magazine helped me along the way.

' A thing of beauty is a joy forever.'

Keats!

So they are off to Langebaan!

My daughter mourns all the things she would love to take off to the UK.

They have packed their boxes. They have no space left.

Don't stop! Don't think!

Then it all becomes too hard to do!

I am so close to going downstairs to unpack boxes and to change my mind.

But I won't.

Thank you, dear Universe, for allowing me the pleasure of all these things.

I have loved them, I have enjoyed them. They have lived with me and my company for a long time.

I wish for them someone who will be delighted with their boot-sale purchase.

I know they will go home with someone who cared enough to buy them.

Pass on the joy!

And I am content.

I've had the joy and the pleasure.

Now it's someone else's turn.

Enjoy!

WOW

I'm so excited. I have not been able to post for ages for all sorts of reasons. My son-in-law who is very clever at these things helped to sort me out.

But! Where are you guys?

Where are you Dragonfly?

Where are my regular bloggers? Only Susie blogs regularly and she puts me to shame with her lovely stories and most beautiful photographs.

I think that being a blogger is hard work!

You need to think carefully. You need to scrutinize your own writing. And edit it and at the end, wonder if that was what you really wanted to say!

Facebook is a cheat. It's just an indulgence.

Twitter is just that. Twitter! A total waste of time.

I believe and I don't care if you think I am wrong! I believe that blogging is a more intelligent exercise. It is an essay in thought and emotion.

It is a sharing of the human experience! No matter what that may be!

Blogging requires thought. It requires some sort of intellect. It requires emotion and a sharing with people all over the globe of some common humanity. At least that is what I believe.

Tonight my daughter read out some things from Post Secret.

I hate that site. It is full of really angry people saying all sorts of horrible things. Sharing things that I would rather not know. And even if I do know them, would it make a difference?

We live in a BIG world. It's a global village, as it is said.

Why, I wonder, are there so many hurt and damaged people out there?

And why are these angry tendrils reaching out across the cyberworld into our lives?

I don't know. Call me an ostrich, but I don't care.

I think that people must deal with their own lives. Someone on the other side of the world can hear you but they can't help you.

But I understand the need to be heard. The need to be recognised. I understand that!

Just how sad is it that it all has to happen through an electronic device.

There will be no real hug. No real contact. No real communication.

Just a computer screen.

I am so lucky to have been born when I was.