fire exits
I read like a tarot card, its so easy to pick out my mood and to divide up what I am really saying. But I am not alone. I think it is actually rare that people are able to conceal their real feelings. And I am generally pretty good at picking these things up. Last night was just another night, like any other night. An exhibition, some drinks and then a packed full space of people mushing and pushing and putting on their smiles and their attitudes. A sea of bodies, dancing and laughing and full of the expectations of this life... I played along, I smiled and put on my attitude and danced and laughed, but I am feeling jaded.
I saw him. He doesn't know who I am, but I know who he is. I know his history, his story. I know this because when people are in a sea of other people all mushing and pushing each other, sometimes they talk. And they gossip and they say things to get an edge. But that is not the point right now, we all already know this and I don't need to rehash this for you right now. The point is that I know what he has gone through, in a very superficial way perhaps, but it is something I have gone through. And I was fascinated. It was, if nothing else, more interesting than worrying about venue capacity versus possible exits in the case of a fire. I watched him and his interactions with the people around him. I watched him dance and flirt and smile and laugh. I saw how he dealt with the mushing and pushing. I saw a moment of release, where all the old rubbish just went away and he mushed and pushed back and he relaxed and became himself. It was revealing, and it released me. I stopped watching him, I stopped thinking about fire exits and how close I was to one. I let go myself.
Transformation. Realisation. And I danced with abandon and I mushed and pushed and I was full of the expectations of this life. I was full of dreams and possibilities, and pushed back the regrets and the bittersweet sentiments that I cherish. I started to watch me in my minds eye and I laughed, for it was far more interesting than the fire exits. I felt assured, reassured and not pressured. And then I had to leave. All the mushing and pushing, its not forever me, it was a night, just another night. I made a bacon and egg sandwich. I skimmed through a cooking magazine and went to bed, joined eventually by my babies who mushed but didn't push and who are intensely filled with the expectations of this life. And this morning, I got my daily tarot card emailed to me: The moon (now go pick that apart).
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
stop colding me out
Its another cold morning and everyone is worried about their toes. Its not that my toes don't count, its just that it is winter and of course they are gonna be cold. And truth be told, its not that cold. It is refreshing. Although, I admit, the way the wind was kicking up something terrible last night was nothing I would have wanted to be out and about in. But this cold is not really up to scratch (meaning it doesn't compete with NEOH winters) and as I have recently had a taste of proper snow, there is nothing here to get excited about, not even cold toes.
What is exciting is moving in to my new place in a weeks time. We all know by now that I love lists and organising them and making them so complicated I need more than one spreadsheet to accomplish the task of organisation. Then there is prioritising, and crossing completed tasks off my lists and then cross referencing them and delegation and educated decision making. Its all too wonderful. So what a move entails is a lot of list making and all related tasks. I should be in my element and I am, truly. Only, I can hardly say that list girl is on the ball. List girl is not working off a list, she has not made up complex spreadsheets, she is pretending that the move is not the scary or list deserving.
List girl is for some reason spending way too much time worried about the fact that she does not have a bread knife. This is not a train smash. This is not even cold toes in winter. No one really NEEDS a bread knife. I mean, they are nice to have and when you get to a certain point in your life, it is kind of assumed that you will own something called a bread knife, but it is not a necessity, ya know. Trouble is, I thought I was at the point in my life where I would be expected to have a bread knife. I have plenty of tableware & servingware & linens for entertaining only, so surely I should have a bread knife. But I don't. Not even an old one. I am now trying to figure out why I don't just go and buy one. Not an expensive one, mind you, just your average run of the mill Woolies brand bread knife. Its not something that will break the bank (okay, maybe it will mine), but truly, I could pay more for medication to make me sleep at night instead of worrying about silly things like bread knives.
Bread knives and cold toes aside, I am excited. I have been eagerly anticipating this move since long before it was coming. I have been waiting for this new beginning, this revolution for far too long and the idea of it all gets me giddy extreme. And perhaps this is why I am not concerned about my toes. I wish I was not concerned about bread knives and I will try my best to listen to the very good advice I received from my son this morning, "Mooooommmm, stop colding me out already!"
Its another cold morning and everyone is worried about their toes. Its not that my toes don't count, its just that it is winter and of course they are gonna be cold. And truth be told, its not that cold. It is refreshing. Although, I admit, the way the wind was kicking up something terrible last night was nothing I would have wanted to be out and about in. But this cold is not really up to scratch (meaning it doesn't compete with NEOH winters) and as I have recently had a taste of proper snow, there is nothing here to get excited about, not even cold toes.
What is exciting is moving in to my new place in a weeks time. We all know by now that I love lists and organising them and making them so complicated I need more than one spreadsheet to accomplish the task of organisation. Then there is prioritising, and crossing completed tasks off my lists and then cross referencing them and delegation and educated decision making. Its all too wonderful. So what a move entails is a lot of list making and all related tasks. I should be in my element and I am, truly. Only, I can hardly say that list girl is on the ball. List girl is not working off a list, she has not made up complex spreadsheets, she is pretending that the move is not the scary or list deserving.
List girl is for some reason spending way too much time worried about the fact that she does not have a bread knife. This is not a train smash. This is not even cold toes in winter. No one really NEEDS a bread knife. I mean, they are nice to have and when you get to a certain point in your life, it is kind of assumed that you will own something called a bread knife, but it is not a necessity, ya know. Trouble is, I thought I was at the point in my life where I would be expected to have a bread knife. I have plenty of tableware & servingware & linens for entertaining only, so surely I should have a bread knife. But I don't. Not even an old one. I am now trying to figure out why I don't just go and buy one. Not an expensive one, mind you, just your average run of the mill Woolies brand bread knife. Its not something that will break the bank (okay, maybe it will mine), but truly, I could pay more for medication to make me sleep at night instead of worrying about silly things like bread knives.
Bread knives and cold toes aside, I am excited. I have been eagerly anticipating this move since long before it was coming. I have been waiting for this new beginning, this revolution for far too long and the idea of it all gets me giddy extreme. And perhaps this is why I am not concerned about my toes. I wish I was not concerned about bread knives and I will try my best to listen to the very good advice I received from my son this morning, "Mooooommmm, stop colding me out already!"
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
righter me, writer me
Get back to it everyone screams at me. Write. Just write. Just write. So alright, I have spent the past several weeks trying to come up with some sort of inspiration, with mixed success... Some things are actually just too personal. You understand. So instead, I filled myself with writers block and writers grief and self doubt and procrastination and I tried to wallow in it, but its just not there; I guess I am just no good at it. Late last week I sat down to write a short story. I could feel it - the air around the story. I could see my characters, almost smell and touch them. I felt their fear and emotions. I dove right into the icy piercing waters of weeks of writing nothing. And I typed as quick as I could, still stumbling as my brain was working faster. And then, and then... bam, I had no more oxygen and the hypothermia started to creep in and freeze up my body, fingers first. Brain, still stumbling along, I realised the story was trite. The line was not unique, my characters were shallow. The whole story was rather cold and distant, lacking in any substance or thrills. Again, I tried to wallow in that misery, to absolutely no avail.
Last night I tossed and turned, it was like drowning in the warmth of my blankets and socks. I flit over millions of tiny thoughts, as if it was just a puzzle of information I had to put together. Truly, I have plenty to analyze, the past several weeks (months, years...) have all been something of a blur and some clarity is required, just to soothe my hypothermic soul...
This morning I woke up with strange memories. I woke up in the cold, with icy frost on my car and on the grass in the garden. I woke up thinking about the one cold I experienced in Australia hundreds of years ago... It was far west Victoria, maybe even in South Australia and only a matter of about 10 days before I travelled home. It was freezing cold outside and I had a warm, bittersweet soupy feeling in my heart, that was visible on my face. I must have looked like I was waking up, the glow surrounding me, radiating out from me. People commented on how well I looked and I loved the warm feeling that was growing inside, hiding the fear of leaving that still lurked deep inside. My coffee that morning tasted like my coffee this morning, warm and sugary and just about right. That coffee's sugar came in packets. One found its way slipped into a jacket pocket, and was retrieved only weeks later, back in NEOH at a time when the bittersweet was overwhelming, all encompassing... I spent the morning thinking about what I may have accidentally slipped into a pocket this morning.
Oh, but I am not looking back. I do not need a sugar packet or cigarette wrapper or a scrap piece of paper with a note scribbled on it. I have no fear, I am fearless. I am a world of warmth in the frosty morning light. I am not drowning in icy waters. I am a writer - go check my status...
Get back to it everyone screams at me. Write. Just write. Just write. So alright, I have spent the past several weeks trying to come up with some sort of inspiration, with mixed success... Some things are actually just too personal. You understand. So instead, I filled myself with writers block and writers grief and self doubt and procrastination and I tried to wallow in it, but its just not there; I guess I am just no good at it. Late last week I sat down to write a short story. I could feel it - the air around the story. I could see my characters, almost smell and touch them. I felt their fear and emotions. I dove right into the icy piercing waters of weeks of writing nothing. And I typed as quick as I could, still stumbling as my brain was working faster. And then, and then... bam, I had no more oxygen and the hypothermia started to creep in and freeze up my body, fingers first. Brain, still stumbling along, I realised the story was trite. The line was not unique, my characters were shallow. The whole story was rather cold and distant, lacking in any substance or thrills. Again, I tried to wallow in that misery, to absolutely no avail.
Last night I tossed and turned, it was like drowning in the warmth of my blankets and socks. I flit over millions of tiny thoughts, as if it was just a puzzle of information I had to put together. Truly, I have plenty to analyze, the past several weeks (months, years...) have all been something of a blur and some clarity is required, just to soothe my hypothermic soul...
This morning I woke up with strange memories. I woke up in the cold, with icy frost on my car and on the grass in the garden. I woke up thinking about the one cold I experienced in Australia hundreds of years ago... It was far west Victoria, maybe even in South Australia and only a matter of about 10 days before I travelled home. It was freezing cold outside and I had a warm, bittersweet soupy feeling in my heart, that was visible on my face. I must have looked like I was waking up, the glow surrounding me, radiating out from me. People commented on how well I looked and I loved the warm feeling that was growing inside, hiding the fear of leaving that still lurked deep inside. My coffee that morning tasted like my coffee this morning, warm and sugary and just about right. That coffee's sugar came in packets. One found its way slipped into a jacket pocket, and was retrieved only weeks later, back in NEOH at a time when the bittersweet was overwhelming, all encompassing... I spent the morning thinking about what I may have accidentally slipped into a pocket this morning.
Oh, but I am not looking back. I do not need a sugar packet or cigarette wrapper or a scrap piece of paper with a note scribbled on it. I have no fear, I am fearless. I am a world of warmth in the frosty morning light. I am not drowning in icy waters. I am a writer - go check my status...
Thursday, March 01, 2007
heaven, hell and in between
Airports are weird places. And they are all completely different - even if they are in the same city. Take for example Washington Dulles and Washington Reagan - they are 2 totally different vibes. As for New York, I can't really say. I've flown through both LaGuardia and the more remote Newark (which yeah, I know is in New Jersey, but its all the same metropolis), but I don't know these airports at all. As far as JFK is concerned - its hard to even call it one airport considering there are 9, count them - nine terminals. I can't really say I know all of JFK airport, but i can tell you all about terminals 2, 3 & 4. Just so I can get it down, the first two are totally rubbish. Terminal 4 is set up totally different and Delta has nothing to do with it, so it is marginally better. However, I guess I can allow for the fact that if I was stuck in Terminal 4 for 2 days, I might think of it in terms of Terminal 2. As it was, I spent 5 hours in Terminal 4 yesterday and it was enough.
Thinking back, I've been in a lot of different airports, though I am not sure I could actually list them all. And i would certainly try if I didn't think I would lose the tiny readership that I have in the attempt to do so. Basically though, I have begun to equate airports with pregnancy. Think about it. You find out your are travelling and you are excited or apprehensive or whatever, but in any case, you begin to accept your fate. At the airport you find yourself weighted down by all kids of extra baggage, totally within your own world, waiting, while you place your life in the hands of others. Its just like being pregnant. And its dreadful. Temperature controls are off, people smell weird, and if you are like me - taking flights with ridiculous lay-overs in random places - then you are uncomfortable for too long, forced to sleep sitting up and constantly checking to see if the time is now or not yet. Its just like being pregnant. And more, when it is over, I will only remember that I didn't like it while forgetting many of the reasons I didn't like it. (And just so you know, I heard a baby crying just as I tried to make the broad leap to delivery...)
As I sit here writing this, I am in the middle of a ridiculously long 8-hour lay-over in Dubai, but believe it or not, there are free internet terminals here, which means I can even hike over there and type this all up after I finish my beer. Its a totally different airport, probably because I don't have a history of hanging out in Arab countries and no matter how international they make it, this is predominantly populated by Arabs. That's not bad, just different. I wonder what Joburg's airport felt like the first time around. I'm sure it felt like being in Africa - also not a place I was ever know for hanging out in.
The fact that I have been in 6 airports since I left - some twice, some for 2 days (ahem) makes me think I may be some sort of authority on the subject. But, kind of like being pregnant, I don't know any more than anyone else who has been through it before. Every experience is unique. So just nod your head and smile as you would do if you were talking to some pregnant woman. And be thankful if you never had to sped 2 days at JFK or 8 hours in any other airport... Cause airports are weird places and its probably good that they separate out arrivals, departures and transiting passengers - cause heaven, hell and purgatory are a lot to deal with all at once. As for me, I think I am waiting for the words "final destination", cause whether its Cleveland or Joburg - the arrivals hall is the best place to be...
Airports are weird places. And they are all completely different - even if they are in the same city. Take for example Washington Dulles and Washington Reagan - they are 2 totally different vibes. As for New York, I can't really say. I've flown through both LaGuardia and the more remote Newark (which yeah, I know is in New Jersey, but its all the same metropolis), but I don't know these airports at all. As far as JFK is concerned - its hard to even call it one airport considering there are 9, count them - nine terminals. I can't really say I know all of JFK airport, but i can tell you all about terminals 2, 3 & 4. Just so I can get it down, the first two are totally rubbish. Terminal 4 is set up totally different and Delta has nothing to do with it, so it is marginally better. However, I guess I can allow for the fact that if I was stuck in Terminal 4 for 2 days, I might think of it in terms of Terminal 2. As it was, I spent 5 hours in Terminal 4 yesterday and it was enough.
Thinking back, I've been in a lot of different airports, though I am not sure I could actually list them all. And i would certainly try if I didn't think I would lose the tiny readership that I have in the attempt to do so. Basically though, I have begun to equate airports with pregnancy. Think about it. You find out your are travelling and you are excited or apprehensive or whatever, but in any case, you begin to accept your fate. At the airport you find yourself weighted down by all kids of extra baggage, totally within your own world, waiting, while you place your life in the hands of others. Its just like being pregnant. And its dreadful. Temperature controls are off, people smell weird, and if you are like me - taking flights with ridiculous lay-overs in random places - then you are uncomfortable for too long, forced to sleep sitting up and constantly checking to see if the time is now or not yet. Its just like being pregnant. And more, when it is over, I will only remember that I didn't like it while forgetting many of the reasons I didn't like it. (And just so you know, I heard a baby crying just as I tried to make the broad leap to delivery...)
As I sit here writing this, I am in the middle of a ridiculously long 8-hour lay-over in Dubai, but believe it or not, there are free internet terminals here, which means I can even hike over there and type this all up after I finish my beer. Its a totally different airport, probably because I don't have a history of hanging out in Arab countries and no matter how international they make it, this is predominantly populated by Arabs. That's not bad, just different. I wonder what Joburg's airport felt like the first time around. I'm sure it felt like being in Africa - also not a place I was ever know for hanging out in.
The fact that I have been in 6 airports since I left - some twice, some for 2 days (ahem) makes me think I may be some sort of authority on the subject. But, kind of like being pregnant, I don't know any more than anyone else who has been through it before. Every experience is unique. So just nod your head and smile as you would do if you were talking to some pregnant woman. And be thankful if you never had to sped 2 days at JFK or 8 hours in any other airport... Cause airports are weird places and its probably good that they separate out arrivals, departures and transiting passengers - cause heaven, hell and purgatory are a lot to deal with all at once. As for me, I think I am waiting for the words "final destination", cause whether its Cleveland or Joburg - the arrivals hall is the best place to be...
Monday, February 19, 2007
slippy
You know you are with good people when you find yourself totally comfortable. You know - when you meet someone new or when you find yourself in the presence of people you haven't seen in half a decade or more and nothing is weird. I've been having a lot of this kind of thing going on since I arrived Stateside. Of course, for those of you who don't know, I've also had crazy troubles. I landed and cleared customs like it was my job, then I tore screaming into the bitterly cold New York air, took a deep breath and ran screaming back inside. Shortly there after I had the unfortunate realisation that I wasn't getting out of New York. The very few people that were getting out were a small and infinitely lucky minority. I didn't resent them as I stood at the baggage claim office trying to get my hands on my luggage - crying and carrying on. - I just wanted out. Long story short, I ended up in good hands with a friend of a friend. (This seriously deserves its own blog and will get one, if out of sequence.) And there I was comfortable.
Last night, sitting in a bar with my friends Chris and Samantha, I realised that since landing, I had spent 1 night in New York, 1 night in DC, 1 night in Cleveland and 1 night in Pittsburgh. And even though Julie was missing and Chris and Samantha (despite both being Kent friends) came from totally different periods in my life - every thing was perfectly comfortable. Ditto that sentiment on today which was spent breakfasting, shopping, lunching, watching tv (during which I napped on Samantha's couch to the sounds of Chris and Samantha reciting with Office Space), and more food (read- I whined until they had no choice but to organise me some Taco Bell).
In and amongst the primary activity of the day (eating), I was being instructed in the fine art of Pittsburgh speak. Look, its not all that far away from Cleveland, but man, they talk funny here. All this yinz-ing and some, "watch out its slippy - might fall on to a jagger bush". The last comment was followed by extreme laughter on the part of me and Samantha, who tried to recall the Ohio word for jagger bush - its called prickers. Take your pick, they are both totally ridiculous descriptions of whatever the plant may actually be called. Nonetheless, to my Pitt Crew, I gotta tell yinz, its been a good time out here. I feel totally out of circuit on my beer knowledge, which is understandable I guess. And the merry little stroll was a little cold and the team lost the game. Its slippy outside, but I am totally comfortable and I'm sad I don't have more time.
You know you are with good people when you find yourself totally comfortable. You know - when you meet someone new or when you find yourself in the presence of people you haven't seen in half a decade or more and nothing is weird. I've been having a lot of this kind of thing going on since I arrived Stateside. Of course, for those of you who don't know, I've also had crazy troubles. I landed and cleared customs like it was my job, then I tore screaming into the bitterly cold New York air, took a deep breath and ran screaming back inside. Shortly there after I had the unfortunate realisation that I wasn't getting out of New York. The very few people that were getting out were a small and infinitely lucky minority. I didn't resent them as I stood at the baggage claim office trying to get my hands on my luggage - crying and carrying on. - I just wanted out. Long story short, I ended up in good hands with a friend of a friend. (This seriously deserves its own blog and will get one, if out of sequence.) And there I was comfortable.
Last night, sitting in a bar with my friends Chris and Samantha, I realised that since landing, I had spent 1 night in New York, 1 night in DC, 1 night in Cleveland and 1 night in Pittsburgh. And even though Julie was missing and Chris and Samantha (despite both being Kent friends) came from totally different periods in my life - every thing was perfectly comfortable. Ditto that sentiment on today which was spent breakfasting, shopping, lunching, watching tv (during which I napped on Samantha's couch to the sounds of Chris and Samantha reciting with Office Space), and more food (read- I whined until they had no choice but to organise me some Taco Bell).
In and amongst the primary activity of the day (eating), I was being instructed in the fine art of Pittsburgh speak. Look, its not all that far away from Cleveland, but man, they talk funny here. All this yinz-ing and some, "watch out its slippy - might fall on to a jagger bush". The last comment was followed by extreme laughter on the part of me and Samantha, who tried to recall the Ohio word for jagger bush - its called prickers. Take your pick, they are both totally ridiculous descriptions of whatever the plant may actually be called. Nonetheless, to my Pitt Crew, I gotta tell yinz, its been a good time out here. I feel totally out of circuit on my beer knowledge, which is understandable I guess. And the merry little stroll was a little cold and the team lost the game. Its slippy outside, but I am totally comfortable and I'm sad I don't have more time.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
fast forward
It is Sunday morning. I leave on Wednesday morning. That gives me about 3 days to get my shit in order. I am mostly done and good thing too. Today is filled up with kids parties and the like. Tomorrow I work full day and will no doubt be spending most of it explaining where all my stuff is so the other ladies can find it when they need it. Tuesday is a half day, but I have to run around to the bank and grab things I don't yet have for the voyage. (This is a self-note to remember to find the electrical converter so I can charge my phone.)
But you see, as happy as I am to go home, I can't seem to get everything altogether for some reason. It could be that I am working a lot on my books lately and started going to the gym again. It could be that work has been completely chaotic and I can barely find a minute to think. Or it could just be, that in many ways, I don't believe I am going. I really just cannot believe it. Josie said she wouldn't believe it until she saw me, so I sent her my flight itinerary from the airline's website - with a whole bunch of CONFIRMEDs next to each flight - and she started to believe (clap your hands if you believe in fairies). Its like I've just realised that life doesn't stop on either side of the ocean if I am not there. In theory I know this, I know that people go on living without me, but I like to think I hold some universal remote that I can press pause on when I leave a place.
Last night I had a collision of worlds and it sent me reeling. First, my housekeeper came in with a handbag she had found tossed by the side of the road. The strap had been cut, but most of the contents (less, one must assume, the cash) were inside. We located the name and number of the person who owned the bag and phoned. She would come and collect. When she arrived with two other folks, we heard the sad story, they had been held up at gun point at zoo lake. Even I wouldn't go for a walk around zoo lake without one of the dogs, I might go into the bowling club or sit down at Moyo, but I wouldn't go walking around the pond that they call a lake without the dogs, c'mon. The lady was distraught, wouldn't you be? And then my house keeper got in the car with them to show them where she had found the bag. What a tough world this can be...
A few minutes after this happened (which, I'll be honest, I didn't completely have the headspace for), I called Holly. I'm at Kelly's shower, wanna talk to her? Yeah, gimme the phone. Ahhhh and ahhhh and ahhhh and what are you doing next Friday? Ahhhh. She hands the phone back to Holly. Wanna talk to another mystery guest? Yeah, who? Just talk... Kat - omigod! Ahhhh ahhhh ahhhh. Where are you, what do you do? You have kids? You have kids? You live in Chicago? You live in South Africa? Ahhhh ahhhh. When do you go back to Chicago? Tomorrow. Damn... This was an interaction I had the headspace for, but couldn't believe as much as I could believe someone getting robbed at gunpoint at Zoo Lake. Wierd. I hauled out an old photo album with some pics from Kent days and the times my peeps would all come down to go out dancing at some totally crappy nightclub. Then Holly's email came in listing names of people I went to elementary school with - married, kids - oh and this one - married, kids. Holy cow, my pause button doesn't work at all.
And that my friends is why I HAVE TO GO HOME. Because you aren't all sitting around in a vacuum waiting for me to let you out. Things change, construction happens. And when a good chunk of my heart is spread out over there, sometimes, I just have to check on those pieces so I can feel whole again. And I don't have long to go until I am on the plane, but I'll tell you, I would use the fast forward button if I could find it. And if I could find it, then I would know where that pause button is as well and that means I wouldn't have to spend any time getting stuff in order here, cause I would only press play when I got back.
It is Sunday morning. I leave on Wednesday morning. That gives me about 3 days to get my shit in order. I am mostly done and good thing too. Today is filled up with kids parties and the like. Tomorrow I work full day and will no doubt be spending most of it explaining where all my stuff is so the other ladies can find it when they need it. Tuesday is a half day, but I have to run around to the bank and grab things I don't yet have for the voyage. (This is a self-note to remember to find the electrical converter so I can charge my phone.)
But you see, as happy as I am to go home, I can't seem to get everything altogether for some reason. It could be that I am working a lot on my books lately and started going to the gym again. It could be that work has been completely chaotic and I can barely find a minute to think. Or it could just be, that in many ways, I don't believe I am going. I really just cannot believe it. Josie said she wouldn't believe it until she saw me, so I sent her my flight itinerary from the airline's website - with a whole bunch of CONFIRMEDs next to each flight - and she started to believe (clap your hands if you believe in fairies). Its like I've just realised that life doesn't stop on either side of the ocean if I am not there. In theory I know this, I know that people go on living without me, but I like to think I hold some universal remote that I can press pause on when I leave a place.
Last night I had a collision of worlds and it sent me reeling. First, my housekeeper came in with a handbag she had found tossed by the side of the road. The strap had been cut, but most of the contents (less, one must assume, the cash) were inside. We located the name and number of the person who owned the bag and phoned. She would come and collect. When she arrived with two other folks, we heard the sad story, they had been held up at gun point at zoo lake. Even I wouldn't go for a walk around zoo lake without one of the dogs, I might go into the bowling club or sit down at Moyo, but I wouldn't go walking around the pond that they call a lake without the dogs, c'mon. The lady was distraught, wouldn't you be? And then my house keeper got in the car with them to show them where she had found the bag. What a tough world this can be...
A few minutes after this happened (which, I'll be honest, I didn't completely have the headspace for), I called Holly. I'm at Kelly's shower, wanna talk to her? Yeah, gimme the phone. Ahhhh and ahhhh and ahhhh and what are you doing next Friday? Ahhhh. She hands the phone back to Holly. Wanna talk to another mystery guest? Yeah, who? Just talk... Kat - omigod! Ahhhh ahhhh ahhhh. Where are you, what do you do? You have kids? You have kids? You live in Chicago? You live in South Africa? Ahhhh ahhhh. When do you go back to Chicago? Tomorrow. Damn... This was an interaction I had the headspace for, but couldn't believe as much as I could believe someone getting robbed at gunpoint at Zoo Lake. Wierd. I hauled out an old photo album with some pics from Kent days and the times my peeps would all come down to go out dancing at some totally crappy nightclub. Then Holly's email came in listing names of people I went to elementary school with - married, kids - oh and this one - married, kids. Holy cow, my pause button doesn't work at all.
And that my friends is why I HAVE TO GO HOME. Because you aren't all sitting around in a vacuum waiting for me to let you out. Things change, construction happens. And when a good chunk of my heart is spread out over there, sometimes, I just have to check on those pieces so I can feel whole again. And I don't have long to go until I am on the plane, but I'll tell you, I would use the fast forward button if I could find it. And if I could find it, then I would know where that pause button is as well and that means I wouldn't have to spend any time getting stuff in order here, cause I would only press play when I got back.
Friday, January 12, 2007
video
Okay, I admit it, sometimes I am just so stubborn about the absolute lamest things. Some notable previous examples of this can be found in my relationship with food and being in a strange place. Nooooo, I scream, there are no beans here like refried beans - I can't have them then and I am going to pout about it for far too long. See, look at this shelf, nothing says PINTO beans. Stamps foot, whines, looks sullen. Eventually, I came to realise that pinto beans are called SUGAR beans here. What a waste of a temper tantrum - I was wrong. And the cans of pumpkin - oh yeah, don't need to buy the whole pumpkin, but I do need to boil and mash the pre-packaged bags of pumpkin in order to make some pies. Oh, and I still haven't seen Forest Gump, because of some weird idea that it took best picture away from Tarantino. I need to stop here before I give myself a complex, but the point is I have been stubborn and wrong before. What can you do.
When YouTube came into the world and everyone went "way-oh way-oh" I just ignored it. More, I ignored the emails from friends that said, "hey check this video out (link to YouTube)". Although that was a combination of the fact that I wasn't interested in YouTube mixed with the idea in my head that I CAN'T STAND fwds and jokes and "hey check this out" emails. I know how to use the internet, I can find these things on my own, when I want, if I want. I am so stubborn.
Sometimes it did feel like I was the only person I'd ever met that hadn't spent at least a few hours in front of YouTube browsing for the funniest video to pass on to my friends. Not like I was purposely ignoring the site, it just NEVER occurred to me. I'd sit around at a braai listening to other people talk about what they have seen and who sent them what and generally make some excuse to exit the conversation, like, "I'd better go make a salad" or "can I get you more to drink?" And the last time we went to a friend's house, I got into it. Stamps feet - THERE ARE NO PINTO BEANS AND I DON'T CARE!
So this is of course the part where I am humbled and start buying up stock of sugar beans. Steve recorded Oscar and uploaded it to YouTube. Then Felix. And then I was emailing people all over the place - hey you, go check out my kids on the internet. And then I realised, this is great, my friends and family back home can now get a moving glimpse of my children. Go watch it, go watch it my emails urge. See my children. Go look at Felix's first day of school. More coming, keep checking back. I have become a fiend, checking to see how many times my kids have been viewed on the internet. Humbled.
Okay look, I still haven't searched for today's funniest video, I haven't gone back and looked at the recommendations I was previously given, but at least I can not stomp my feet and denounce the whole project. I am still too stubborn... But for those of you who aren't, go check out my kids on YouTube:
http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=stevebrimelow
For now, I have to go cook and mash up some sugar beans, cause thats all refried beans are no matter what they are called. And by the way, I have also looked up the stacking order of a Whopper and I can now get that here as well...
Okay, I admit it, sometimes I am just so stubborn about the absolute lamest things. Some notable previous examples of this can be found in my relationship with food and being in a strange place. Nooooo, I scream, there are no beans here like refried beans - I can't have them then and I am going to pout about it for far too long. See, look at this shelf, nothing says PINTO beans. Stamps foot, whines, looks sullen. Eventually, I came to realise that pinto beans are called SUGAR beans here. What a waste of a temper tantrum - I was wrong. And the cans of pumpkin - oh yeah, don't need to buy the whole pumpkin, but I do need to boil and mash the pre-packaged bags of pumpkin in order to make some pies. Oh, and I still haven't seen Forest Gump, because of some weird idea that it took best picture away from Tarantino. I need to stop here before I give myself a complex, but the point is I have been stubborn and wrong before. What can you do.
When YouTube came into the world and everyone went "way-oh way-oh" I just ignored it. More, I ignored the emails from friends that said, "hey check this video out (link to YouTube)". Although that was a combination of the fact that I wasn't interested in YouTube mixed with the idea in my head that I CAN'T STAND fwds and jokes and "hey check this out" emails. I know how to use the internet, I can find these things on my own, when I want, if I want. I am so stubborn.
Sometimes it did feel like I was the only person I'd ever met that hadn't spent at least a few hours in front of YouTube browsing for the funniest video to pass on to my friends. Not like I was purposely ignoring the site, it just NEVER occurred to me. I'd sit around at a braai listening to other people talk about what they have seen and who sent them what and generally make some excuse to exit the conversation, like, "I'd better go make a salad" or "can I get you more to drink?" And the last time we went to a friend's house, I got into it. Stamps feet - THERE ARE NO PINTO BEANS AND I DON'T CARE!
So this is of course the part where I am humbled and start buying up stock of sugar beans. Steve recorded Oscar and uploaded it to YouTube. Then Felix. And then I was emailing people all over the place - hey you, go check out my kids on the internet. And then I realised, this is great, my friends and family back home can now get a moving glimpse of my children. Go watch it, go watch it my emails urge. See my children. Go look at Felix's first day of school. More coming, keep checking back. I have become a fiend, checking to see how many times my kids have been viewed on the internet. Humbled.
Okay look, I still haven't searched for today's funniest video, I haven't gone back and looked at the recommendations I was previously given, but at least I can not stomp my feet and denounce the whole project. I am still too stubborn... But for those of you who aren't, go check out my kids on YouTube:
http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=stevebrimelow
For now, I have to go cook and mash up some sugar beans, cause thats all refried beans are no matter what they are called. And by the way, I have also looked up the stacking order of a Whopper and I can now get that here as well...
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
tractor
Today I realised I have little boys. Okay, I did know this before and I’ve even had similar revelations in the past, but this morning I had an all new insight into the mind of small male beings.
As always, I had this feeling whilst in my car, driving to work. I was singing along to an old favourite (seriously days of old – and I’m sure only Josie can guess what it is), tapping on the steering wheel. Having a moment and a half, thinking about how much I hated getting up in the middle of the night to roll up the windows on my car during one hell of a storm, and simultaneously how grateful I was for having done it – and then I saw it.
I wanted to scream out, “boys look!!!!”, but of course they weren’t in the car and even if they had been, the “it” passed so quickly, I would have had to explain it for another 15 minutes or so! The “it” was a blue tractor with white trim! Oh holy excitement! And it looked just like the toy blue tractor with white trim that the boys have in their toy box – although it has to be said that the tractor on the road was probably cleaner than the one in the toy box.
What is completely amazing about this experience is not the fact that I saw a tractor that looks just like a toy, but the fact that I saw a tractor and I wanted to play with it. I am not kidding you, I wanted to play with the tractor. And if I couldn’t play with the big one, well I wanted to get down on the floor and make vrrrrooom vrrrooommmmm noises as I pushed my little play tractor on the floor.
Needless to say, this feeling only lasted for a few seconds and I was pulled back into my song, tapping my fingers until I arrived a minute later in the parking lot at work, but the joy of understanding my little ones for just a second, just one tiny moment in time is priceless. The big test is when I get home from work and tell them – oh should I tell them I understand? Nah, I’ll just keep being mommy, dancing in the car, buffing their nails, never telling them that I’ve got the upper hand. I’ll play with the tractor after they go to bed. And maybe tomorrow I’ll pass a flash car and decide I want to play with one of those as well….
Thursday, September 28, 2006
guest post
Last night I fell asleep on the couch. I was woken up briefly to have a look at this art. I appreciated it, but I was tired all the same. This email from Steve greeted me this morning, I thought I should share it.
So Felix was like, "Daddy I wanna draw you." And I was thinking, "that's a bit advanced for a three year old, what have they been teaching him at school?
" Then he was like "But I can't daddy, I don't know how."
I told him he could do anything if he tried, etc, but he kept saying he couldn't
So I said "well, don't worry Felix just draw anything.
" Then he said "Okay" and started drawing, he drew what looked like a head outline and said, "Okay daddy's head." I looked at it from the couch and true enough there was
a head outline.
So I said, "Wow Felix that's incredible, now what about giving daddy some eyes, so he said, "Okay" and drew eyes (well okay, he drew three).
I was thrilled, "Now what about a mouth for daddy, Felix?" Sure enough he drew a mouth.
And I was like, "That's unbelievable Felix, now what about daddy's nose?" Bang! Felix drew a nose.
I grabbed him and kissed him and said what a wonderful child he was, then he said "No wait Daddy I need to give you sharps". I was like "it's okay Felix let's pretend that daddy shaved today, we don't need to draw the sharps."
So he said, "Okay daddy but I have to draw your ears" those are the little squiggles on either side.
Well I was so proud of Felix that I wanted him to sign the work so I asked if he could write his name, and he giggled "No daddy" all sheepishly. So I started to write his name and he got all cross and said "but you're doing it daddy, that's mine."
I looked up and asked nobody in particular "What's the date today?", he said, "it's Wednesday daddy." And sure enough Wednesday it is.
Anyway, emails like this only come from proud fathers, so I hope the pic doesn't disappoint, but I'm blown away by it, it was drawn entirely by Felix, unassisted, I mean the kid is THREE!
Last night I fell asleep on the couch. I was woken up briefly to have a look at this art. I appreciated it, but I was tired all the same. This email from Steve greeted me this morning, I thought I should share it.
So Felix was like, "Daddy I wanna draw you." And I was thinking, "that's a bit advanced for a three year old, what have they been teaching him at school?
" Then he was like "But I can't daddy, I don't know how."
I told him he could do anything if he tried, etc, but he kept saying he couldn't
So I said "well, don't worry Felix just draw anything.
" Then he said "Okay" and started drawing, he drew what looked like a head outline and said, "Okay daddy's head." I looked at it from the couch and true enough there was
a head outline. So I said, "Wow Felix that's incredible, now what about giving daddy some eyes, so he said, "Okay" and drew eyes (well okay, he drew three).
I was thrilled, "Now what about a mouth for daddy, Felix?" Sure enough he drew a mouth.
And I was like, "That's unbelievable Felix, now what about daddy's nose?" Bang! Felix drew a nose.
I grabbed him and kissed him and said what a wonderful child he was, then he said "No wait Daddy I need to give you sharps". I was like "it's okay Felix let's pretend that daddy shaved today, we don't need to draw the sharps."
So he said, "Okay daddy but I have to draw your ears" those are the little squiggles on either side.
Well I was so proud of Felix that I wanted him to sign the work so I asked if he could write his name, and he giggled "No daddy" all sheepishly. So I started to write his name and he got all cross and said "but you're doing it daddy, that's mine."
I looked up and asked nobody in particular "What's the date today?", he said, "it's Wednesday daddy." And sure enough Wednesday it is.
Anyway, emails like this only come from proud fathers, so I hope the pic doesn't disappoint, but I'm blown away by it, it was drawn entirely by Felix, unassisted, I mean the kid is THREE!
Friday, September 22, 2006
fears
I still live in NE Ohio. I've got no doubts about where I am geographically to be sure, but I still live in NE Ohio. This is easily evidenced by the fact that every day I download a half hour of NE Ohio news broadcast from Kent State's radio and listen to it either on my drive to work or my drive home from work. I know more about what is going on there with regards to politics, arts and culture, you name it. Plus when I am at work, I eagerly anticipate the rising sun in Cleveland - cause it means I get to hear whats going on in the social scene that I am missing as well.
On the other hand, I am loving life over here. I love my house run like a ship right now and now that school is done, things run so smoothly. Plus, I love my artists and my boss (its about time I supplied you with a name - Bethea). The other day when I decided I wanted to wear false eyelashes because the heavy eyeliner look would be vastly improved by having long lashes - one of our makeup artists put them on. Do you know what Bethea said? She asked if I'd ever worn false eyelashes before, told me to follow the makeup artist's instructions as to when to close and when to open my eyes and then she gave me instructions on taking them off. And then she proceeded to answer the phones as I had them applied. Then I found a picture of the look I was going for online. You see, the heavy eyeliner, dark look is actually the Keira Knightly look, which is in stark contrast to the other look I have been striving for - Jane Smith - not Angelina Jolie, but her character. I just like the clean smooth lines. But thats not the point, the point is that then I proceeded to have my hair done. It was the middle of the day folks, my boss should have been telling me to get to work, not how great I looked. And I have to add, its not like Bethea is some middle manager, she owns the company.
But back to NE Ohio, on the false eyelashes day, on my way home I thought about Gravity Hill. Can you believe it, Gravity Hill? Where did that come from? Then I started driving through Kirtland and Mentor in my head. Everything looked clear and consistent in my head, but its kind of strange cause some of the things I saw were from specific periods that have already passed. Like a sign I saw on my way to vote a few years ago that read "Vote Your Conscience, Not Your Fears". Okay, that was more than a couple years ago - that was prior to W. being elected the first time. I listened to the sign, I voted Green, I contributed to the dividing of the left. It happens.
And then it happened, I turned to my closet to pick out something to wear for a play we were going to that evening. Not formal, but not too casual. And then tragedy struck. Clearly that was the Jane Smith look, not the Keira Knightly look, but nothing was making me take off the eyelashes. Once I had regained the ability to open my eyes, I wasn't taking them off. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I couldn't find anything to wear. I was totally stumped. It was the first time that I had ever tried to match clothes with eye makeup, for sure, but I am so good with this suff normally. I tried this on, I tried that on, I really didn't like anything. I got confused and just decided on black pants, black shirt and a grey sweater. Highly unimaginative. The play, "Defending the Caveman" was great. Then I put a couple of rand down on roulette. I lost. But, I just couldn't bring myself to take off my eyelashes that night. So I slept on my back and was in the constant state of wanting to turn over and not letting myself.
I had just as much trouble getting dressed the next morning. What is clean that matches my eyelashes? And on my drive to work (listening to NE Ohio news) I was listening to the Green party candidate for Ohio governor speak. I was kind of irritated by this. I've been following the issues raised by Strickland v Blackwell. I've been trying, very hard to keep an open mind to both sides, though there is no doubt I am biased. And I still haven't mailed in my absentee voter registration, so there isn't much I can do about it anyhow. When Fitakis, the Green Party candidate says that for the first time in a long time, the lefties in Ohio are in a strong position to vote their hopes, not their fears. I looked around expecting to see South Mentor as I drove past. But all I could see was house after house with Joburg style 8 foot high walls (maybe these were the 10-12' variety, I was in Houghton at the time) topped with electric fencing and electric gates opening and closing while cars pulled out of them, some people blowing kisses out the window to their poor, trained to attack dogs were left to guard the fortress. (Mandela lives on that street, I don't know which one is his house, but I drive past it six days a week - but he doesn't drive, I've seen him at the pharmacy recently, he can barely walk.)
Vote your hopes, not your fears. I wonder what that means here. I shrugged my shoulders. I'm not tearing down our wall, its spikes or electric fence, I'm not getting rid of the guard dogs, I'm not driving around with my windows down and in lieu of that, its not like I can get on the next plane out of here. I shrugged again and tuned back into the the important political issues of NE Ohio. Maybe something unexpected will happen. Maybe something great will fall into my lap. I just hope its not one of my eyelashes. So maybe I should go back to the Jane Smith look. Its just one way to contextualize voting your hopes, not your fears.
I still live in NE Ohio. I've got no doubts about where I am geographically to be sure, but I still live in NE Ohio. This is easily evidenced by the fact that every day I download a half hour of NE Ohio news broadcast from Kent State's radio and listen to it either on my drive to work or my drive home from work. I know more about what is going on there with regards to politics, arts and culture, you name it. Plus when I am at work, I eagerly anticipate the rising sun in Cleveland - cause it means I get to hear whats going on in the social scene that I am missing as well.
On the other hand, I am loving life over here. I love my house run like a ship right now and now that school is done, things run so smoothly. Plus, I love my artists and my boss (its about time I supplied you with a name - Bethea). The other day when I decided I wanted to wear false eyelashes because the heavy eyeliner look would be vastly improved by having long lashes - one of our makeup artists put them on. Do you know what Bethea said? She asked if I'd ever worn false eyelashes before, told me to follow the makeup artist's instructions as to when to close and when to open my eyes and then she gave me instructions on taking them off. And then she proceeded to answer the phones as I had them applied. Then I found a picture of the look I was going for online. You see, the heavy eyeliner, dark look is actually the Keira Knightly look, which is in stark contrast to the other look I have been striving for - Jane Smith - not Angelina Jolie, but her character. I just like the clean smooth lines. But thats not the point, the point is that then I proceeded to have my hair done. It was the middle of the day folks, my boss should have been telling me to get to work, not how great I looked. And I have to add, its not like Bethea is some middle manager, she owns the company.
But back to NE Ohio, on the false eyelashes day, on my way home I thought about Gravity Hill. Can you believe it, Gravity Hill? Where did that come from? Then I started driving through Kirtland and Mentor in my head. Everything looked clear and consistent in my head, but its kind of strange cause some of the things I saw were from specific periods that have already passed. Like a sign I saw on my way to vote a few years ago that read "Vote Your Conscience, Not Your Fears". Okay, that was more than a couple years ago - that was prior to W. being elected the first time. I listened to the sign, I voted Green, I contributed to the dividing of the left. It happens.
And then it happened, I turned to my closet to pick out something to wear for a play we were going to that evening. Not formal, but not too casual. And then tragedy struck. Clearly that was the Jane Smith look, not the Keira Knightly look, but nothing was making me take off the eyelashes. Once I had regained the ability to open my eyes, I wasn't taking them off. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I couldn't find anything to wear. I was totally stumped. It was the first time that I had ever tried to match clothes with eye makeup, for sure, but I am so good with this suff normally. I tried this on, I tried that on, I really didn't like anything. I got confused and just decided on black pants, black shirt and a grey sweater. Highly unimaginative. The play, "Defending the Caveman" was great. Then I put a couple of rand down on roulette. I lost. But, I just couldn't bring myself to take off my eyelashes that night. So I slept on my back and was in the constant state of wanting to turn over and not letting myself.
I had just as much trouble getting dressed the next morning. What is clean that matches my eyelashes? And on my drive to work (listening to NE Ohio news) I was listening to the Green party candidate for Ohio governor speak. I was kind of irritated by this. I've been following the issues raised by Strickland v Blackwell. I've been trying, very hard to keep an open mind to both sides, though there is no doubt I am biased. And I still haven't mailed in my absentee voter registration, so there isn't much I can do about it anyhow. When Fitakis, the Green Party candidate says that for the first time in a long time, the lefties in Ohio are in a strong position to vote their hopes, not their fears. I looked around expecting to see South Mentor as I drove past. But all I could see was house after house with Joburg style 8 foot high walls (maybe these were the 10-12' variety, I was in Houghton at the time) topped with electric fencing and electric gates opening and closing while cars pulled out of them, some people blowing kisses out the window to their poor, trained to attack dogs were left to guard the fortress. (Mandela lives on that street, I don't know which one is his house, but I drive past it six days a week - but he doesn't drive, I've seen him at the pharmacy recently, he can barely walk.)
Vote your hopes, not your fears. I wonder what that means here. I shrugged my shoulders. I'm not tearing down our wall, its spikes or electric fence, I'm not getting rid of the guard dogs, I'm not driving around with my windows down and in lieu of that, its not like I can get on the next plane out of here. I shrugged again and tuned back into the the important political issues of NE Ohio. Maybe something unexpected will happen. Maybe something great will fall into my lap. I just hope its not one of my eyelashes. So maybe I should go back to the Jane Smith look. Its just one way to contextualize voting your hopes, not your fears.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
two points
We have two little boys that come into our office every afternoon - Wallace and Mpho. They are about 10 years old. I have know their mom almost as long as I have been in this country. My boss has known their mom for a couple of decades. They used to live near our office, now they live near my boss. In any case, they are still enrolled in the school
near my office, but there is no way for them to get home after school until their mom gets off work - so they hang out here for a couple hours.
Thats the background information. What has been happening lately though is that since last week these little brothers are fighting over which one of them gets to be my boyfriend. They keep demanding an answer, but what can I do? I don't want to damage their little self-esteems and its not like I can pick one. But today Wallace bumped himself up a couple points by giving me these divine letters. Of course they were passed through my boss and they've both been walking around covering their faces ever since, but they are too wonderful not to share.
We have two little boys that come into our office every afternoon - Wallace and Mpho. They are about 10 years old. I have know their mom almost as long as I have been in this country. My boss has known their mom for a couple of decades. They used to live near our office, now they live near my boss. In any case, they are still enrolled in the school
near my office, but there is no way for them to get home after school until their mom gets off work - so they hang out here for a couple hours.Thats the background information. What has been happening lately though is that since last week these little brothers are fighting over which one of them gets to be my boyfriend. They keep demanding an answer, but what can I do? I don't want to damage their little self-esteems and its not like I can pick one. But today Wallace bumped himself up a couple points by giving me these divine letters. Of course they were passed through my boss and they've both been walking around covering their faces ever since, but they are too wonderful not to share.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
dinosaurs
The strangest thing is happening to me right now - as I type. I have nothing to do. Seriously. This morning I had a study group at my house for our upcoming exam. It was a grueling but successful 5 or so hours. (And I think everyone appreciated the nibblies I made.) After they left, my housekeeper and I set to loading the dishwasher and tidying up. That was done fairly quickly. Everything was tidy and the kids were playing with Julia (who most of you haven't heard of yet - dunno why). I sat down to check my email. I had none. I sat on the couch with Oscar for a few minutes watching Mr & Mrs Smith (which is kind of like my anthem right now). He decided to go back to playing with the others. I decided I could start preparing dinner, which consisted of taking stirfry out of the freezer, putting it in the microwave to defrost it and then putting it in my oven. Then I set the table. Then, having nothing more to do while dinner did itself, Steve fixing his car, the kids playing with Julia, my house in complete order, I checked my email again. Still nothing. Not even crap subscription stuff. I walked into the kitchen again, checked on dinner and then stood there, looking blankly around me. I opened a beer.
I called my boss - to ask her if she has ever gotten to the point where she has nothing to do. She complimented my housekeeping and told me that she has never had a moment where everything is done. We talked about work for a few minutes. She suggested I go back to working on my book. I stood in the kitchen for a few more minutes. I randomly did some yoga stretches. I checked on the dinner. I gave Steve a five minute heads up. I stood around some more. I took dinner out of the oven. I called everyone to the table. I served dinner. When everyone was finished, I finished clearing the table. I washed the dishes. I put them away. I wiped off the table. I played a little game with the kids. I'm not sure how it started, but the general rules were to catch imaginary dinosaurs as they were coming out of the floor and to run through the house screaming until we got to the door to throw them outside and then to run screaming through the house back to the boys' room where more invisible beasts were rising from the ground. They got worn out. I put on a movie for them. I checked my email. I walked through the house again to see if there was anything that needed to be done. I stood around for a few minutes.
In a little while I will give the kids a bath. Then I will get them ready for bed. We'll all sit quietly on the couch. Then I will put Oscar in bed. After that it is Felix's turn. And then what? I suppose I can check my email again. But since I will have none, that will take 30 seconds. It is all too strange and it isn't even 7pm. I'm even a little afraid to finish this blog. What will I do between now and bathtime? Check my email? I might have more luck pulling imaginary dinosaurs out of the floor. And with any luck, they'll destroy the floorboards so I have something to do besides check my email.
The strangest thing is happening to me right now - as I type. I have nothing to do. Seriously. This morning I had a study group at my house for our upcoming exam. It was a grueling but successful 5 or so hours. (And I think everyone appreciated the nibblies I made.) After they left, my housekeeper and I set to loading the dishwasher and tidying up. That was done fairly quickly. Everything was tidy and the kids were playing with Julia (who most of you haven't heard of yet - dunno why). I sat down to check my email. I had none. I sat on the couch with Oscar for a few minutes watching Mr & Mrs Smith (which is kind of like my anthem right now). He decided to go back to playing with the others. I decided I could start preparing dinner, which consisted of taking stirfry out of the freezer, putting it in the microwave to defrost it and then putting it in my oven. Then I set the table. Then, having nothing more to do while dinner did itself, Steve fixing his car, the kids playing with Julia, my house in complete order, I checked my email again. Still nothing. Not even crap subscription stuff. I walked into the kitchen again, checked on dinner and then stood there, looking blankly around me. I opened a beer.
I called my boss - to ask her if she has ever gotten to the point where she has nothing to do. She complimented my housekeeping and told me that she has never had a moment where everything is done. We talked about work for a few minutes. She suggested I go back to working on my book. I stood in the kitchen for a few more minutes. I randomly did some yoga stretches. I checked on the dinner. I gave Steve a five minute heads up. I stood around some more. I took dinner out of the oven. I called everyone to the table. I served dinner. When everyone was finished, I finished clearing the table. I washed the dishes. I put them away. I wiped off the table. I played a little game with the kids. I'm not sure how it started, but the general rules were to catch imaginary dinosaurs as they were coming out of the floor and to run through the house screaming until we got to the door to throw them outside and then to run screaming through the house back to the boys' room where more invisible beasts were rising from the ground. They got worn out. I put on a movie for them. I checked my email. I walked through the house again to see if there was anything that needed to be done. I stood around for a few minutes.
In a little while I will give the kids a bath. Then I will get them ready for bed. We'll all sit quietly on the couch. Then I will put Oscar in bed. After that it is Felix's turn. And then what? I suppose I can check my email again. But since I will have none, that will take 30 seconds. It is all too strange and it isn't even 7pm. I'm even a little afraid to finish this blog. What will I do between now and bathtime? Check my email? I might have more luck pulling imaginary dinosaurs out of the floor. And with any luck, they'll destroy the floorboards so I have something to do besides check my email.
Friday, September 08, 2006
me, melanie and mitra
Last night we went out to our fancy schmancy dinner. Despite the cheese of corporate events, it was a nice evening. Of course, the only people we knew were the crew - Niqui-Beth's boyfriend (see models blog) was doing sound, one of our makeup artists, Leon was there body painting some performers and Steve knew a cameraman that was recording the event. And apart from them, the only people we spoke to were the couple sitting at our table and the astronomers who had set up telescopes on the lawn to look at the moon (partial eclipse last night) and Jupiter. So, it was a good thing that we didn't spend so much money on a suit and such. But Steve did buy a pair of shoes - dirt cheap shoes - he said he couldn't justify spending more. So we kept talking about his shoes: "how do you like my fancy Italian shoes?"
I had to recount the night that me, Melanie and Mitra went to the Mo & Me documentary the night Melanie got back from Italy. Melanie and I couldn't stop bitching about the Italians. A brief apology is necessary to any Italians reading this, but really the service and even politeness areas of your culture could learn a lesson from the South Africans even - and that is saying something... Meanwhile, I love the Germans, but my friend Sabine, who is German, can't stand them and loves the Italians. Truthfully, no one's opinions really matter that much. But Steve twigged on to the catch phrase "me, melanie and mitra" and said it sounded like a movie. I said it sounded like a blog title.
Problem is, I couldn't think of the blog to go with the title. But then I got home to an email from Mitra. She said she was listening to Simon & Garfunkel's Homeward Bound and realised its my anthem. I had to tell her that it was included on the airline radio last year when I went home and I felt the same way. She told me it was so much my anthem that I was REQUIRED to post the lyrics on my blog. So I have now managed to post a blog that incorporates Italians, Simon & Garfunkel, and me, Melanie and Mitra.
Without further ado:
Last night we went out to our fancy schmancy dinner. Despite the cheese of corporate events, it was a nice evening. Of course, the only people we knew were the crew - Niqui-Beth's boyfriend (see models blog) was doing sound, one of our makeup artists, Leon was there body painting some performers and Steve knew a cameraman that was recording the event. And apart from them, the only people we spoke to were the couple sitting at our table and the astronomers who had set up telescopes on the lawn to look at the moon (partial eclipse last night) and Jupiter. So, it was a good thing that we didn't spend so much money on a suit and such. But Steve did buy a pair of shoes - dirt cheap shoes - he said he couldn't justify spending more. So we kept talking about his shoes: "how do you like my fancy Italian shoes?"
I had to recount the night that me, Melanie and Mitra went to the Mo & Me documentary the night Melanie got back from Italy. Melanie and I couldn't stop bitching about the Italians. A brief apology is necessary to any Italians reading this, but really the service and even politeness areas of your culture could learn a lesson from the South Africans even - and that is saying something... Meanwhile, I love the Germans, but my friend Sabine, who is German, can't stand them and loves the Italians. Truthfully, no one's opinions really matter that much. But Steve twigged on to the catch phrase "me, melanie and mitra" and said it sounded like a movie. I said it sounded like a blog title.
Problem is, I couldn't think of the blog to go with the title. But then I got home to an email from Mitra. She said she was listening to Simon & Garfunkel's Homeward Bound and realised its my anthem. I had to tell her that it was included on the airline radio last year when I went home and I felt the same way. She told me it was so much my anthem that I was REQUIRED to post the lyrics on my blog. So I have now managed to post a blog that incorporates Italians, Simon & Garfunkel, and me, Melanie and Mitra.
Without further ado:
Homeward Bound (4:22) I'm sittin' in the railway station Homeward Bound, I wish I was Every day's an endless stream Homeward Bound, I wish I was Tonight I'll sing my songs again Homeward Bound, I wish I was Homeward Bound, I wish I was |
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
no shoes
Being broke while you have kids means that you have to give up a lot of things you would normally spend money on. For us, the first thing to go was clothes. Not that I was ever one of those people who spent a lot or spent often on clothes, although I think Steve was. I don't struggle with clothing issues the way a lot of people do. This has primarily been for two reasons: my wardrobe has limited colour in it and my closet runs like a business. It is organised to the letter. For a start, all of my clothes get fully done up - buttons it get buttoned, zippers get zipped, that sort of thing. And items only get put in the closet after being ironed and placed on hangers - facing in the same direction. The primary division is by colour - in this order: white, grey, black, cream/tan and for the first time: red. (Until recently, anything I owned of colour was placed out of distraction on shelves or in drawers.) After that you get sub-divisions within each category, as follows: pants, tank tops & sleeveless shirts, short sleeve shirts (with no buttons), short sleeve button-up shirts, long sleeve shirts, long sleeve button up shirts, sweaters, sweaters with buttons, suit jackets, skirts, and finally dresses. That pattern follows in each colour category. Things that get folded, also sit in stacks of colour. Its a business, but if I want a shirt, I know exactly where it is. If its not there, its not available to wear.
This particular system has been with me for over half my life as well, so it runs smoothly. This also means that I know if I need to buy something - which on the whole, has been a rare experience. Because my clothes get such good care and I can see where they are, I really don't need to replace often. So when I arrived and decided to stay in South Africa, this became a bit of a problem, because I brought carry-on luggage only. I had just enough for a holiday, with a wash in the middle. So then I had to borrow what I could, buy what I couldn't borrow and do without items I couldn't afford to buy. Then I got pregnant (BIG), and then I lost the weight to about 3 sizes bigger than normal, then I got pregnant (BIG) and then finally, finally, I was at a stage when it was time to work on building up my wardrobe again. Only, by that time, we had no money, so it has been a struggle. Although I think I may have finally reached the point, where I am covered for any event in any of the usual colours.
Steve on the other hand, has neither the closet run like Swiss trains, nor the weight fluctuations and travel that require wardrobe updates. Which is why he looked at me in dismay when the invitation for Thursday night's dinner said: formal/traditional (yeah, we live in Africa and no, no one shows up in loin cloths - only very bad prints). Suit jackets he has none. Nice pants: one pair, never been hemmed - which I think is cool, but doesn't work for an event with a formal dress code. He has a few joke ties - most of which I have appropriated as belts to suit the changes in my waistline. Nice shoes. You see, even if we have money, we have kids - and Steve's job reqires he goes out to film child miners in the mountains in DRC, not step into board rooms - what would he need formal shoes for? I have A dress I wear for this. Long, straight, black, backless and a high slit up the back. Sexy, stylish, works for everything except freezing cold weather. Done, I am sorted. Steve still has nothing to wear.
In a moment of insight, I call one of our stylists to see if maybe he can help me pull together a suit. Cause, yeah, we can't afford to buy Steve a proper suit right now, we can't even spend the money for fabric even if I was crazy enough to sew one up. Gareth, says, sure, with pleasure, come over - I've got stuff laying around, what size is he? The pleasure of having stylists around you. It makes all the difference some times. I sat down and watched the performance: try this jacket on - it fits fine, but the colour is off, and this one, nice, here try the pants, need to be tacked, but they will work, this shirt, no, this one?, maybe, here, try this one, not bad, put the jacket back on, good, good, and this tie? It was almost a comedy for me. When I wasn't busy rehanging, I sat back and just smiled at what was going on around me. When it was all settled, I was in such a good mood, I told him he could buy matching shoes (which he needs, otherwise, he could have just gone with this the un-hemmed pants). And I just kept smiling. It was kind of like watching my life as a movie. And of course I have decided to make friends with all of our stylists who work with ladies clothing, because, while I love my dress, you've all seen it before.
But our dinner is all sorted (except I think all of our makeup and hair people are working, which means I have to do it on my own) for the cost of a pair of shoes and dry cleaning and I am feeling a bit smug - see what I pulled off... However, we still have no money to buy clothes, which means that no matter how much care they have received, I am about to walk to a closet that is thread bare, if highly organised. And while I will find what I need for work today, I am kinda hoping my suit-high keeps me going until we have money. Which I am pretty sure it won't because, even if I have a sufficient number of black tank tops, my kids keep on growing. That means they need the clothes, and socks, and shoes, and jackets (yes it gets freaking cold here) and of course they need the food that keeps them growing, but that is another story.
Being broke while you have kids means that you have to give up a lot of things you would normally spend money on. For us, the first thing to go was clothes. Not that I was ever one of those people who spent a lot or spent often on clothes, although I think Steve was. I don't struggle with clothing issues the way a lot of people do. This has primarily been for two reasons: my wardrobe has limited colour in it and my closet runs like a business. It is organised to the letter. For a start, all of my clothes get fully done up - buttons it get buttoned, zippers get zipped, that sort of thing. And items only get put in the closet after being ironed and placed on hangers - facing in the same direction. The primary division is by colour - in this order: white, grey, black, cream/tan and for the first time: red. (Until recently, anything I owned of colour was placed out of distraction on shelves or in drawers.) After that you get sub-divisions within each category, as follows: pants, tank tops & sleeveless shirts, short sleeve shirts (with no buttons), short sleeve button-up shirts, long sleeve shirts, long sleeve button up shirts, sweaters, sweaters with buttons, suit jackets, skirts, and finally dresses. That pattern follows in each colour category. Things that get folded, also sit in stacks of colour. Its a business, but if I want a shirt, I know exactly where it is. If its not there, its not available to wear.
This particular system has been with me for over half my life as well, so it runs smoothly. This also means that I know if I need to buy something - which on the whole, has been a rare experience. Because my clothes get such good care and I can see where they are, I really don't need to replace often. So when I arrived and decided to stay in South Africa, this became a bit of a problem, because I brought carry-on luggage only. I had just enough for a holiday, with a wash in the middle. So then I had to borrow what I could, buy what I couldn't borrow and do without items I couldn't afford to buy. Then I got pregnant (BIG), and then I lost the weight to about 3 sizes bigger than normal, then I got pregnant (BIG) and then finally, finally, I was at a stage when it was time to work on building up my wardrobe again. Only, by that time, we had no money, so it has been a struggle. Although I think I may have finally reached the point, where I am covered for any event in any of the usual colours.
Steve on the other hand, has neither the closet run like Swiss trains, nor the weight fluctuations and travel that require wardrobe updates. Which is why he looked at me in dismay when the invitation for Thursday night's dinner said: formal/traditional (yeah, we live in Africa and no, no one shows up in loin cloths - only very bad prints). Suit jackets he has none. Nice pants: one pair, never been hemmed - which I think is cool, but doesn't work for an event with a formal dress code. He has a few joke ties - most of which I have appropriated as belts to suit the changes in my waistline. Nice shoes. You see, even if we have money, we have kids - and Steve's job reqires he goes out to film child miners in the mountains in DRC, not step into board rooms - what would he need formal shoes for? I have A dress I wear for this. Long, straight, black, backless and a high slit up the back. Sexy, stylish, works for everything except freezing cold weather. Done, I am sorted. Steve still has nothing to wear.
In a moment of insight, I call one of our stylists to see if maybe he can help me pull together a suit. Cause, yeah, we can't afford to buy Steve a proper suit right now, we can't even spend the money for fabric even if I was crazy enough to sew one up. Gareth, says, sure, with pleasure, come over - I've got stuff laying around, what size is he? The pleasure of having stylists around you. It makes all the difference some times. I sat down and watched the performance: try this jacket on - it fits fine, but the colour is off, and this one, nice, here try the pants, need to be tacked, but they will work, this shirt, no, this one?, maybe, here, try this one, not bad, put the jacket back on, good, good, and this tie? It was almost a comedy for me. When I wasn't busy rehanging, I sat back and just smiled at what was going on around me. When it was all settled, I was in such a good mood, I told him he could buy matching shoes (which he needs, otherwise, he could have just gone with this the un-hemmed pants). And I just kept smiling. It was kind of like watching my life as a movie. And of course I have decided to make friends with all of our stylists who work with ladies clothing, because, while I love my dress, you've all seen it before.
But our dinner is all sorted (except I think all of our makeup and hair people are working, which means I have to do it on my own) for the cost of a pair of shoes and dry cleaning and I am feeling a bit smug - see what I pulled off... However, we still have no money to buy clothes, which means that no matter how much care they have received, I am about to walk to a closet that is thread bare, if highly organised. And while I will find what I need for work today, I am kinda hoping my suit-high keeps me going until we have money. Which I am pretty sure it won't because, even if I have a sufficient number of black tank tops, my kids keep on growing. That means they need the clothes, and socks, and shoes, and jackets (yes it gets freaking cold here) and of course they need the food that keeps them growing, but that is another story.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
habits
The Germans arrive today. Who and what you ask. I can't really say. I'm not even sure I have ever been told their names, but they are coming. Somehow a couple of film or something students have found Steve as they were planning their trip to SA. As he is not in Mogadishu right now (as he was supposed to be), he is going to help them navigate their way through to where they are staying. Up until I went to bed last night, this was not even an issue. Sure they aren't American, but they are short term-short distance friends. In other words strangers who need some assistance.
These people have always been my friends. In high school it was the exchange students. In between being the stranger myself after graduation, I had a steady stream of these people in my life. These are people I know are going to leave, but for some reason, I take the time anyhow. In fact, the most recent departure of a new American stranger damn near broke my heart. (Love you Mitra!) And still I persist. It might be because my mom taught me about tolerance without me even realising it (which she did). But I think now its more because I know what being the stranger is all about. And Jo'burg is a hard place to be a stranger in. Its big, its spread out and with the persistent cloud of fear everyone lives in, its hard to make friends when you don't even have a starting base. Look, I had that base, and I still struggle with a lack of friends. But then I end by missing my short term-short distance friends and feeling both enriched and empty - and I do it again. And this time around, it is the Germans.
Still, this was not a problem. Some habits are hard to break and I'm not even worried about this one. Last night, minutes before bed, Steve said, "are we inviting them over for dinner or going to the bowling club or what? Oh, and Roger will probably be with us..." This doesn't sould like an issue to anyone does it. The problem is this. I spent the whole of Saturday preparing and freezing meals for the next two weeks. I have a schedule. I even have the following two weeks planned out and the groceries ordered for that cooking spree. Deviations are allowed for, I never reheat fish dishes. So if we want to eat fish, it gets purchased that day, and the allocated meal gets pushed to another date. I rearrange my calendar and life moves on. Last night when the crisis struck, I was advocating for eating at home. This is due to the fact that we are poor and that Steve and I already have two commitments later this week, and the boys go all loopy when we are both out of the house in the evenings. Now I wonder if the cabbage rolls with a side of mashed baby new potatoes will be sufficient and tasty enough. I wonder if I should swop it out for something else.
And last night, I went to bed worrying that they might be vegetarian. What then? A last minute dash to the grocery store to prepare some tried and successful vegetarian dishes? But that would really screw up the system, because then, I will have extra of what is already ordered and less of things I haven't ordered because we still have plenty. Its a little dilemma, I'm sure, but nonetheless, it is my dilemma. And if good habits die hard, the bad ones NEVER seem to go away. And as female and topped off by being mother, I worry. You'll only notice, if you watch me long enough, but it is there. But I have to play this all by ear and sit at work, impotent to do anything, should they be vegetarians or not. Fortunately, my business direction skills seem to have refined themselves over the years and I can act in a crises situation (which this is not), so I'm hoping this will all go smoothly. And what for you ask. Because I keep putting myself out there to make friends I will have to say goodbye to sooner rather than later.
The Germans arrive today. Who and what you ask. I can't really say. I'm not even sure I have ever been told their names, but they are coming. Somehow a couple of film or something students have found Steve as they were planning their trip to SA. As he is not in Mogadishu right now (as he was supposed to be), he is going to help them navigate their way through to where they are staying. Up until I went to bed last night, this was not even an issue. Sure they aren't American, but they are short term-short distance friends. In other words strangers who need some assistance.
These people have always been my friends. In high school it was the exchange students. In between being the stranger myself after graduation, I had a steady stream of these people in my life. These are people I know are going to leave, but for some reason, I take the time anyhow. In fact, the most recent departure of a new American stranger damn near broke my heart. (Love you Mitra!) And still I persist. It might be because my mom taught me about tolerance without me even realising it (which she did). But I think now its more because I know what being the stranger is all about. And Jo'burg is a hard place to be a stranger in. Its big, its spread out and with the persistent cloud of fear everyone lives in, its hard to make friends when you don't even have a starting base. Look, I had that base, and I still struggle with a lack of friends. But then I end by missing my short term-short distance friends and feeling both enriched and empty - and I do it again. And this time around, it is the Germans.
Still, this was not a problem. Some habits are hard to break and I'm not even worried about this one. Last night, minutes before bed, Steve said, "are we inviting them over for dinner or going to the bowling club or what? Oh, and Roger will probably be with us..." This doesn't sould like an issue to anyone does it. The problem is this. I spent the whole of Saturday preparing and freezing meals for the next two weeks. I have a schedule. I even have the following two weeks planned out and the groceries ordered for that cooking spree. Deviations are allowed for, I never reheat fish dishes. So if we want to eat fish, it gets purchased that day, and the allocated meal gets pushed to another date. I rearrange my calendar and life moves on. Last night when the crisis struck, I was advocating for eating at home. This is due to the fact that we are poor and that Steve and I already have two commitments later this week, and the boys go all loopy when we are both out of the house in the evenings. Now I wonder if the cabbage rolls with a side of mashed baby new potatoes will be sufficient and tasty enough. I wonder if I should swop it out for something else.
And last night, I went to bed worrying that they might be vegetarian. What then? A last minute dash to the grocery store to prepare some tried and successful vegetarian dishes? But that would really screw up the system, because then, I will have extra of what is already ordered and less of things I haven't ordered because we still have plenty. Its a little dilemma, I'm sure, but nonetheless, it is my dilemma. And if good habits die hard, the bad ones NEVER seem to go away. And as female and topped off by being mother, I worry. You'll only notice, if you watch me long enough, but it is there. But I have to play this all by ear and sit at work, impotent to do anything, should they be vegetarians or not. Fortunately, my business direction skills seem to have refined themselves over the years and I can act in a crises situation (which this is not), so I'm hoping this will all go smoothly. And what for you ask. Because I keep putting myself out there to make friends I will have to say goodbye to sooner rather than later.
Friday, September 01, 2006
cookie
It came to my attention last night that one year ago I was in the States. Steve remembered not me. He said - "oh its Jazz on the Lake on Sunday. I took Felix last year." And by the way, for any one interested, there is no lake here. There is a place called Zoo Lake. Its a pond. Its not much bigger than my parents house if you were to take the top floor and the basement and line them up with the ground floor. Actually, for a pond it is reasonably sized, but it is not a lake. And I have, very specifically been teaching Felix the difference. Yes, Felix, its called Zoo Lake, but its a pond. Its not big enough to be a lake. A lake is big, like the sea. This could of course lead me into another discourse, as I have adopted the British use of the word sea and this could be problematic for some of you. But you have to pick your battles and I choose to distinguish between ponds and lakes and Steve and the boys can keep their sea. And in any case, the first time I spent more than a heartbeat at the "ocean" was a few weeks in Australia - where, I'm not sure any more, but maintaining the links it does to British English, may in fact have been called a "sea".
But all of this is negligible, compared to the fact that last year I was home. In fact, 1 year ago last night I landed in Cleveland. My dad fetched us from the airport and we stopped at Arby's on the way home. The Arby's tasted like my apartment in Kent - I could actually taste good times and sad. I think it almost tasted like watching the same scene from Fight Club over and over and over again. Absolutely wonderful. And I got to my parents' house and basically ran from room to room - I can't be certain if I was looking for my stuff or if I was just remembering. Simple things can have such meaning.
The next day, a year ago today, was spent organising my life. I had to redo my drivers exam. Which wasn't really a mission, but I was a little uneasy seeing as how I drive a stick-shift on the wrong side of the road over here and ALL of the road signs and markings are completely different. But at least I can parallel park, which made the manoeuverability part much easier this time around. Anyhow, my mom, me and Oscar headed out to K-Mart after that escapade, where I just browsed around in disbelief and bought a few necessities for the kid. The rest of the afternoon was spent organising my rental car. Do you guys remember it? Not my style, but what an amazing "sweet" ride it was. And the minute I could, I negotiated my way down to Coventry. I almost can't believe I still knew how to get there from Mentor. Although I don't know why I should be so surprised. I can literally see every bend in MLKJ Drive and every shop front going up little Italy. I think I could just make myself cry thinking about it.
And then to see the faces I've been longing to see, that I still long to see. To sit in the bar that I think of every time I open a beer. To 'run' around Cleveland Hts like it is 'my' playground. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the memories. One year ago today. Its not like I could forget, but how can one night mean so much? Well, briefly put, it is my world. Most nights I dream of it, every day I have to shake it off, like dust from a rug and sweep it out of the corners of my mind. And I have to constantly push thoughts out of my head to keep up with life at all. Oh to be home...
But hey, its not all bad - a few days ago, Steve's mom called to confirm that we were joining them in Durban again this year. Its not around the corner yet, but its coming up. I like Durban, mainly because up here in Joburg, the air is dry and biting. Down in Durban, the humidity and the heat feel like it could be an August day in Cleveland. This, of course, is because of the sea. And, well, "sea" is for cookie, and thats good enough for me.
It came to my attention last night that one year ago I was in the States. Steve remembered not me. He said - "oh its Jazz on the Lake on Sunday. I took Felix last year." And by the way, for any one interested, there is no lake here. There is a place called Zoo Lake. Its a pond. Its not much bigger than my parents house if you were to take the top floor and the basement and line them up with the ground floor. Actually, for a pond it is reasonably sized, but it is not a lake. And I have, very specifically been teaching Felix the difference. Yes, Felix, its called Zoo Lake, but its a pond. Its not big enough to be a lake. A lake is big, like the sea. This could of course lead me into another discourse, as I have adopted the British use of the word sea and this could be problematic for some of you. But you have to pick your battles and I choose to distinguish between ponds and lakes and Steve and the boys can keep their sea. And in any case, the first time I spent more than a heartbeat at the "ocean" was a few weeks in Australia - where, I'm not sure any more, but maintaining the links it does to British English, may in fact have been called a "sea".
But all of this is negligible, compared to the fact that last year I was home. In fact, 1 year ago last night I landed in Cleveland. My dad fetched us from the airport and we stopped at Arby's on the way home. The Arby's tasted like my apartment in Kent - I could actually taste good times and sad. I think it almost tasted like watching the same scene from Fight Club over and over and over again. Absolutely wonderful. And I got to my parents' house and basically ran from room to room - I can't be certain if I was looking for my stuff or if I was just remembering. Simple things can have such meaning.
The next day, a year ago today, was spent organising my life. I had to redo my drivers exam. Which wasn't really a mission, but I was a little uneasy seeing as how I drive a stick-shift on the wrong side of the road over here and ALL of the road signs and markings are completely different. But at least I can parallel park, which made the manoeuverability part much easier this time around. Anyhow, my mom, me and Oscar headed out to K-Mart after that escapade, where I just browsed around in disbelief and bought a few necessities for the kid. The rest of the afternoon was spent organising my rental car. Do you guys remember it? Not my style, but what an amazing "sweet" ride it was. And the minute I could, I negotiated my way down to Coventry. I almost can't believe I still knew how to get there from Mentor. Although I don't know why I should be so surprised. I can literally see every bend in MLKJ Drive and every shop front going up little Italy. I think I could just make myself cry thinking about it.
And then to see the faces I've been longing to see, that I still long to see. To sit in the bar that I think of every time I open a beer. To 'run' around Cleveland Hts like it is 'my' playground. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the memories. One year ago today. Its not like I could forget, but how can one night mean so much? Well, briefly put, it is my world. Most nights I dream of it, every day I have to shake it off, like dust from a rug and sweep it out of the corners of my mind. And I have to constantly push thoughts out of my head to keep up with life at all. Oh to be home...
But hey, its not all bad - a few days ago, Steve's mom called to confirm that we were joining them in Durban again this year. Its not around the corner yet, but its coming up. I like Durban, mainly because up here in Joburg, the air is dry and biting. Down in Durban, the humidity and the heat feel like it could be an August day in Cleveland. This, of course, is because of the sea. And, well, "sea" is for cookie, and thats good enough for me.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
model
This afternoon was fantastic. I work a half day on Tuesdays and Thursdays on account of classes on those days. That means I work until 1pm, even though class only starts at 4pm. This is to allow for me to work on assignments, meet with my professors, return hopelessly overdue books to the million libraries scattered across campus, etc. Today, however, I got sucked into the studio.
We were supposed to have a shoot, but it kept getting postponed by the very important CEO whose portrait was going to be taken. But the lights were set up, the photographer was on standby, we had one of our makeup artists wandering around. Her boyfriend was there, a sprinkling of other photographers were milling around. Its becoming warmer, spring is in the air and my iPod was plugged into the studio sound system. Who can blame me for not catching up on the readings for this afternoon in favour of playing with my artists?
Niqui just sat me down and started painting my face. I couldn't complain. Meanwhile we had one photographer taking pictures of another photographer and we were all rocking out to Blondie. Niqui went wild on my face and even my photographer in residence was happy with the pictures he was snapping. And he's hard to please. So I started thinking how nice it would be to be a model. Sit around with fun creative people, have your face and hair done up by professionals, take some pictures, get paid money for it.
Look, don't let me kid you, with the studio on the premises, I've met my share of models and seen my share of shoots. You don't need brains to do this job. In fact, I'm tempted to say you really shouldn't pursue modelling as a career if you have brains (unless you are so drop dead beautiful that you are earning a fortune from the word go). The reason for this is that intelligent and creative people would not be able to sit still and hold uncomfortable poses without putting their two cents in every five minutes. That irritates every one else on the job. Having said that models do need to have endurance and need to be able to listen - mainly to commands. It can be quite challenging in its own way.
That's when Niqui's boyfriend pipes in that he can't believe models get paid to just look pretty. Well some of them aren't - thats where makeup artists and lighting comes into play. For me, I have come to the conclusion that I am happy models get paid a lot of money to do what they do. That is incentive enough to keep them out of other spaces, like our offices, where normal girls like me are terrified every time the slimmest, prettiest girl walks into my space. In addition, it keeps them out of the goods and services industries - which is also good, because with the IQs necessary to be a model, you don't really want them helping you get through your day.
As for me, you can be sure I am rushing early to work tomorrow to have a look at my pics, but today, I rushed my little self off to school, cause I'm too smart to be a model - or in any case, I can't sit still.
This afternoon was fantastic. I work a half day on Tuesdays and Thursdays on account of classes on those days. That means I work until 1pm, even though class only starts at 4pm. This is to allow for me to work on assignments, meet with my professors, return hopelessly overdue books to the million libraries scattered across campus, etc. Today, however, I got sucked into the studio.
We were supposed to have a shoot, but it kept getting postponed by the very important CEO whose portrait was going to be taken. But the lights were set up, the photographer was on standby, we had one of our makeup artists wandering around. Her boyfriend was there, a sprinkling of other photographers were milling around. Its becoming warmer, spring is in the air and my iPod was plugged into the studio sound system. Who can blame me for not catching up on the readings for this afternoon in favour of playing with my artists?
Niqui just sat me down and started painting my face. I couldn't complain. Meanwhile we had one photographer taking pictures of another photographer and we were all rocking out to Blondie. Niqui went wild on my face and even my photographer in residence was happy with the pictures he was snapping. And he's hard to please. So I started thinking how nice it would be to be a model. Sit around with fun creative people, have your face and hair done up by professionals, take some pictures, get paid money for it.
Look, don't let me kid you, with the studio on the premises, I've met my share of models and seen my share of shoots. You don't need brains to do this job. In fact, I'm tempted to say you really shouldn't pursue modelling as a career if you have brains (unless you are so drop dead beautiful that you are earning a fortune from the word go). The reason for this is that intelligent and creative people would not be able to sit still and hold uncomfortable poses without putting their two cents in every five minutes. That irritates every one else on the job. Having said that models do need to have endurance and need to be able to listen - mainly to commands. It can be quite challenging in its own way.
That's when Niqui's boyfriend pipes in that he can't believe models get paid to just look pretty. Well some of them aren't - thats where makeup artists and lighting comes into play. For me, I have come to the conclusion that I am happy models get paid a lot of money to do what they do. That is incentive enough to keep them out of other spaces, like our offices, where normal girls like me are terrified every time the slimmest, prettiest girl walks into my space. In addition, it keeps them out of the goods and services industries - which is also good, because with the IQs necessary to be a model, you don't really want them helping you get through your day.
As for me, you can be sure I am rushing early to work tomorrow to have a look at my pics, but today, I rushed my little self off to school, cause I'm too smart to be a model - or in any case, I can't sit still.
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