Thursday, 31 May 2007

The name game

Firstly I'd like to wish my mom a very very very happy birthday for today! I hope you had a wonderful day, mom. Enjoy your new blender :-)

When I got married I was under the impression that my troubles with my surname were over. I would automatically spell my surname the second it left my mouth. As my maiden surname is of German origin, often people would put an umlaut on every possible vowel. Not to mention the wide variety of ways in which my surname was pronounced. The minute I said those vows I believed these woes to be over. My new surname is rather English, only one syllable and pretty common.

When I reserved a table for my husband's birthday at a restaurant over the phone, I didn't dream there would be a problem with our surname. I said it 3 times, slowly. The guy on the other end said: spell it. OK. So I spelt it slowly. Even saying things like S for Sugar, T for Tree and E for Emma etc. I was shocked to see what had come out on the other end when we arrived at the restaurant. This was like broken telephone! I couldn't believe that the guy on the other end even thought a surname like that could exist. It looked like a bunch of letters thrown together haphazardly.

SROSP

I was just glad we got a table in the end.

Wednesday, 30 May 2007

Paw paw for lunch

Cake for breakfast automatically means paw paw for lunch.

Man, I sometimes hate the fact that I'm reasonably health-conscious. I always have fruit for breakfast - to give my body a chance to cleanse itself and get rid of all the toxins that I put in the day before. Fruit is best for this because it doesn't take long to digest - it just passes through - thus giving my body a chance to concentrate its energy on the cleansing process (move over Patrick Holford).

Besides, fruit for breakfast just makes me feel cleansed. I just feel good after I've eaten fruit. Too bad I also felt good this morning while eating a nice slice of pecan nut pie...

So here I am eating my carefully sliced paw paw for lunch. It's not bad, I really like paw paw. And, admittedly, I do feel good that I haven't overindulged, and managed to self-discipline myself to have fruit for lunch. Since starting this fruit for breakfast thing I've really gotten used to being hungry. From around 11 am, my tummy starts growling loudly. I quite like the feeling of being hungry. It makes me feel... thinner. This together with all the salad and vegetables we eat, and all the running we do, I'd say we're pretty healthy. And usually I feel good about that, and am very proud of how we manage to keep it up.

But sometimes, just sometimes (like today - wonder if this has anything to do with the pecan nut pie, lemon meringue pie and oreos waiting at home) I really irritate myself with this health crap. I'd love to just have a burger and chips right now, or a nice toasted sarmie with chicken mayo on it. Or a spinach and feta pie or a cheesy macaroni and cheese. Or bacon and avo bagel, or a savoury pancake or...

Happy birthday my angel

Just wanted to leave a little note here to wish my husband the most marvellous birthday ever. My angel, I love you so so so much. You've touched and changed my life in the most wonderful ways. I can't wait to spend your next 67 (at least) birthdays together. I can't think of a better way of living my life than living it with you. I love you endlessly.

Tuesday, 29 May 2007

Excitement

Remember how excited you used to get before your birthday or Christmas? Somehow that novelty seems to wear off as you get older...

In our home on our birthdays we used to open presents before we went to school in the mornings. You'd wait expectantly in your room until a family member would fetch you from your room, and lead you, with your eyes closed, to the birthday table. As you opened your eyes you would drink in a table full of presents and a delicious cake with a number of lit candles reflecting your new age.

My parents would read some passages from the Bible, sing a song and pray. I remember, when I was younger, wishing this could all go a little faster. I would peak at the table during the prayer, sizing up the gifts, trying to imagine what was in them. Could it be that barbie that I had wanted so badly?

I guess as you get older you know what to expect, thus deminishing the excitement. The chance that that square-looking thing on the table is that CD you wanted, is probably about 100%.

That's why I am finding it rather curious that both my husband and I are so excited for his birthday tomorrow. I am excited because I can't wait to see his face when he opens his gift, and when he sees what I've planned for him.

And he is in an oddly excellent mood today, considering all the stress that he's under. But, he told me, it's not that much the gift that he's excited about, but the fact that he is so special to me that I would make this much of an effort to make his day as special as possible. In short, I think he's a little giddy because he feels so loved.

And I'm giddy because he's giddy, and that just makes me love him even more.

Monday, 28 May 2007

Home affairs hell

After reading Mrs M's fury with home affairs today, I can't help but add my 2 cents to the mounting criticisms of this ridiculous department that even dares to call itself a department - as if it runs like one. More like an unorganised cattle market.

Home affairs has become like a swear word in this country. I've heard that here in Maritzburg you have to get up at 4 in order to even get to the counter to even get your hands on an application form for an ID. Everyone has a horror story to tell about home affairs. If it's not waiting in queues for hours, it's documents they've lost or didn't bother to let you know that they needed.

A colleague of mine had the wrong birth date printed in his ID. He went back to show them his birth certificate (imagine, he had to go through the whole process again) and when he got his ID 6 months later it still hadn't been fixed! So now he has to contend with the big boss phoning him in January instead of May to wish him happy birthday...

Probably one of the worst things I've ever done was loosing my ID (I should really stop beating myself up about it, but people keep reminding me of how I could be married off to some bloke in the Transkei by now). When I had searched high and low and finally accepted the grave fate that it was gone, I trudged off to home affairs and applied for a new one. This was one and a half years ago. Since then I have not laid my hands on a green ID book - having now gone through three temporary IDs.

When I went to fetch my ID the first time, they let me know that my fingerprints weren't taken correctly. But they didn't let me know. For 3 months my file had been sitting there with smudged fingerprints and they didn't even bother to let me know. And how do they get that wrong in the first place? I went back grudgingly, redid the fingerprints and prepared myself for another wait.

In the meantime I got married. So back I went to home affairs to apply for a new ID. The old application, they told me, had encountered a problem because my surname had changed. Fair enough, I thought, so I applied for a new one. Made sure the fingerprints were done carefully, got a temporary ID and thought the headache was finally over.

Now - about 2 months on - I haven't heard anything - despite their assurance that they will keep me updated with their new sms service. I entered my details on the website to find (quite horrified) that "no record of application" exists. I am slowly starting to loose my patience. Conveniently they have no email addresses that you can contact them on - probably because they wouldn't bother to answer. I've been trying to get hold of them telephonically for weeks now. I don't have time or money to be on the phone for hours waiting for them to get off their rear ends to answer the phone.

I think home affairs gives me a pretty good idea of what hell might be like.

Saturday, 26 May 2007

The cellphone generation

Remember the days when you used to phone your parents and friends from your landline. Just a few years ago when I was still at school, there was no other way of reaching your friends than by picking up the telkom installed phone and dialling their 7 digit number. Now my preferred mode of communication is smsing.

I'm not saying this is a bad thing - it's much cheaper, and we can't stop the development of these technologies anyway, so why not just make use of those things that make your life considerably easier.

There are some things that do erk me (and my husband in particular) about cell phones though. Such as when we (usually my husband) are trying to type an English sms and the predictive text dictionary is on a different language (usually German). Suddenly "Hello" becomes "Helln" and "Hey" is "Gew".

Or when you've written a whole long message, by mistake pressed the wrong button, and erased the whole thing. Or when you've got a low battery and just as you send the message, the phone dies, thus erasing your message. Or the fact that we go into a panic when our phones die and we're not close to a charger (pretty sad isn't it). Or when you've sent an sms and you don't get a delivery report - even though the person got your message (that really grates my carrot). My husband in particular hates the sound of my cellphone alarm (but who needs an alarm clock or a radio alarm when you have a cell phone?).

Haven't we become a little too dependant on these things, though? I mean, forgetting your cellphone at home is a big deal! You feel isolated and out of touch - scared to miss something important. I also find it helps me to avoid interactions - how much easier is it to send an sms that says "I'm angry with you!" than to actually take the courage and say it to somebody's face?

Today our manager went out for a few minutes to get some food, leaving behind her phone to charge. During the few minutes she was gone, someone sent her a message, and phoned 3 times. As wonderful new technology goes, every minute or so, the phone would remind us that there was a message waiting to be read. After 10 minutes of this repetitive cheery tune, we were ready to chuck the thing down the loo. I remember the same thing happening during my studies - a housemate had left her phone at home while the battery was low. Every few minutes it would remind us of this, and to add salt to the wound, an sms arrived, thus sounding every 30 seconds for either low battery or unread sms. We ended up locking the thing in the bathroom (like a naughty pet) until the housemate came home - hours later!

At least I'm not one of those people who always need the newest, latest phones with the best features, those with the Internet, MP3 players and all that jazz. I'm quite happy when I can just sms and call, be reminded of important dates and woken up in the morning.

And most importantly I'm glad when I can switch it off. Without a guilty conscience.

Friday, 25 May 2007

Totally uninspired

I remember speaking to Mrs M before I started blogging. Being a seasoned blogger herself, Mrs M abated my fears about not encountering happenings every single day that would be worth blogging about, and she ensured me that there will never be a shortage of inspiration around me. Up to now, she has been right. For every day, I seem to find something interesting in the world around me to blog about.

Until now.

I have to admit, Mrs M, your job is a lot more interesting than mine, and your life seems a little more tumultuous at the moment than mine has ever been. I don't even (thankfully) have dogs dying in my street.

But nonetheless I have managed up to now to keep my readers interested, even evoking some positive comments from some of them. Which, mind you, seems to put a little more pressure on me to write something interesting or funny or controversial or unique.

I've always had backup plans in my head. Something that comes to me while we're jogging, or while I'm lying in bed. If something marvellous doesn't strike me on a certain day, I have backup plans A, B and C ready (my dad taught me to always have a backup - after I learnt the hard way). But somehow they just all seem so flat today. I mean, who wants to know about how one should behave in a movie (based on our irritating experience in the movies the other day - filled with people laughing at inappropriate times, rustling with their packets and unashamedly using their cell phones) or about my plans for the weekend or about how joggers and cyclists seem to belong to some elite brother/sisterhood? Somehow these ideas have never reached full maturity. They are still rather half-baked. They have potential, I admit, but it seems there's some crucial ingredient missing.

Friends suggested I should write about the interesting place we stay at (which I will definitely do some time), but I just can't seem to formulate something concrete and inspiring in my head right now.

Mmh.

And as I sit back and read what I've just written, I realise that I have actually managed to write something about, well, actually nothing at all.

Sandy and Erald

I was really impressed with Sandy Ngema on Strictly Come Dancing last night. She's really lost weight. Wonder if she decided this after playing a famous person (not herself) on Hard Copy that was splashed on the front cover of The Bullet for letting herself go. She was threatening to sue them for defamation of character or something. Whatever it was that drove her, she's looking pretty good.

But Erald Felix from 50/50... Dude. I just don't think so. Rather stick to bird watching or something.

Thursday, 24 May 2007

The petty cash problem

I discovered with horror the other day that the petty cash was short by R 100. I had been guarding that box with my life (trying to anyway), and had been very careful when giving out money. I couldn't imagine that any of my colleagues had taken it. Not the thought that I might have to pay in that R 100, but the fact that, on my watch, something had gone missing scared and upset me most. I kept looking at my colleagues, wondering whether one of them might be the guilty one. My manager decided not to say anything, fearing that an air of mistrust would invade and grip the hearts of my colleagues. We have decided, instead, to wait until payday, and see whether the thief develops a conscience. I keep trying to recall whether I ever left the petty cash box open and unattended, but the many memories I have about the petty cash box all seem to swim into one, big, unclear mush of memory. Maybe it was one of the cleaners? Maybe I forgot to enter one of the expenditures in the spread sheet? Maybe I miscounted... But I checked a hundred times!

At the moment I am spending most of my waking hours thinking about the Harry Potter book I just finished (can you believe Dumbledore died?!), my husband's birthday coming up, what I will be blogging about, what we should have for dinner tonight, and my petty cash problem.

The keyboard

When speaking to people from head office, I usually feel compelled to put on my sweetest, politest voice; my brain suddenly becomes alert, ready to answer any hard questions they might fire at me. People from head office somehow enjoy (in my head anyway) a higher status than normal people. Maybe because they have the power to fire me.

So the computer was giving problems today: while trying to log in, a box popped up every time I tried to type in my name. Trying in vain, I was left with no choice. I had to call head office.

I explained the problem, expecting the computer expert on the other end of the line to have the solution ready (after all, he is from head office). My alert brain was ready to do what he was about to tell me.

"OK, I want you to pick up your keyboard, turn it around, and give it a good slap!"

Was this guy for real?

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious."

I tentatively picked up the keyboard, still expecting him to tell me it was all a joke. Was this expert computer guy who had no doubt studied for years to land an elusive job at head office really suggesting I give the keyboard a good ol' beating? It seemed like something more computer ignorants like me would suggest. I was rather disappointed when this little trick didn't work. Mr Head Office's next suggestion was to restart the computer (pretty much what I would have done - restart and hope the problem goes away). And then he said to call him if it happened again.

But this time when I logged on the problem seemed to have disappeared... And all this left me questioning my elevated views of head office and the use of having a computer expert who believes in hitting computers.

Wednesday, 23 May 2007

The truth about relationships

Your relationship really gets tested when you're under stress. You start arguing about stupid little things, you become really sensitive about things you would usually laugh at. Suddenly your partner's cute little habits that you usually find endearing and funny become irritating and frustrating. It's during those times that the character of your relationship really comes out. In times where things aren't cushy financially, or either partner is under strain emotionally or at work, that's when you find out what your relationship is really made of. I remember in the beginning of my relationship with my now-husband, I used to think it was impossible to ever be angry with him, or to argue with him. I don't think we had a single fight in the first few months. It seemed like nothing could ever go wrong.

Unfortunately, sooner or later, life hits you in the face like a bad headache. It's plain to see on The Amazing Race who has been together for a long time, who is freshly in love, and who is just starting to discover reality in their relationships. When put in stressful situations like that, your worst side comes out. The characteristic "older couple" on The Amazing Race, however, give me hope that the longer you are together, the better you seem to be able to manage and deal with stress together - and each other during stress.

Apart from the many ethical issues I have with The Bachelor - not least of which is the fact that the women are always the ones that get hurt - I really have a problem with the pretence of it all. What happens on the show is not real life. They get to go away on cruises and have dinner every night, and go skiing, and swimming with dolphins etc etc. Who has such a life? For crying out loud, sooner or later you're going to find out that the perfect little bachelor, Andrew, farts and poos like the rest of us. Never mind the fact that there will be stress (there always is, even if you are a millionaire - maybe even more so).

My husband always says that one of the most important things in a relationship is how you reconcile. Lucky for us, we reconcile quite quickly and easily. We hate being angry with each other and sooner or later one of us (usually him) reconciles. Our relationship has most definitely been tested, ever since we have gotten together, and I think we are learning (slowly) how to deal with it.

Too much power...

Power really seems to go to some people's heads.

For the first time in all the time that I've worked here we've sold more than one Glamour magazine a month. The rate we're going at the moment we're selling about 7 a day. Thanks to a wonderful promotion of free mascara for the ladies (Clinique nogal) with every June issue they buy and free caps for the men with every GQ they buy.

To promote this wonderful deal, we put up two big posters in the windows of the shop. This was the main mode of advertising that was bringing all this new-found business to the shop.

Unexpectedly, the big boss dropped in to check on us this afternoon. The first thing he does is tell us to take down the Glamour and GQ posters as they "don't look good from the outside".

W H A T ? ! ?

Does this guy WANT business or what? We dutifully took down the posters, firmly resolved to hang the damn things up again as soon as they bugger off back to Cape Town.

I got the distinct feeling he did it just because he could.

Tuesday, 22 May 2007

A change would do you good

Everyone needs a change every now and then. Including the weather. From a really oppressive heat it has suddenly turned, bringing an icy wind and low temperatures.
I love winter.
I've heard it's snowing all over the country. Winter brings a wonderful excuse to indulge in comfort food - gluehwein and thick hot soups. Hot puddings and hot chocolate. Warm bed and a cuddle with your husband.
Too bad I have to use all my will power to pry myself from the comfort of my warm bed at 6:30 every morning. Reminds me of when I had to endure Cape winters and get up to go to school. But in those day I couldn't wear the cosy jeans I wear now... Then it had to be stockings and that sterile crispy cold white shirt. It seems there are some perks to being grown-up after all.
Today, since nature is into change, I have followed suit with my new background. A change is as good as a holiday they say.

What do "THEY" know anyway...

Monday, 21 May 2007

Happiness

Sitting in the most mundane attire in front of the TV, I felt my husband's eyes on me. I turned to look at him: his expression was soft and gentle.
"I want to grow old with you."
Not that I hadn't known this for sure for quite some time now, not the least of the evidence being the sparkling ring on my finger, his words seemed to tingle as my heart felt warm and expanded as the feeling spread through the rest of my body. It was like in that moment I really understood what he was saying - with my heart.
Having the opportunity to be able to hear someone you love so deeply say this with such affection is overwhelming.

This is happiness.

Taxi

During a lengthy Sunday afternoon stroll, my husband and I watched as a taxi drove away from the side of the road. We both stared at a white elderly man sitting in the front. Why were we so surprised? Why is it so weird seeing a white person travelling in a taxi? (So much for integration and all that...) We seem to think that no average white person would ever get into a taxi willingly. The only whites that would ever use this mode of transport must either be tourists or bloody mad (according to us anyway).

I suppose it's because of all the bad things we hear about taxi violence. Or maybe we just don't fancy cramming into a taxi with 15 other people. Or could it be the incessant pulse of the insanely loud music that is so characteristic of taxis. Or (most probably) it's their notorious reputation for being terribly drivers, and their apparent total ignorance of all traffic laws.

I've had a taxi experience before, believe it or not. It was my last option, otherwise I would have missed a very important varsity psych test. I gingerly stepped into the taxi - squashed between a number of hefty women (one of them my friend who was accompanying me). Despite the music overpowering all chance of conversation, the ride was pretty pleasant! There were no nasty traffic incidents, or any threat of violence. Just a bunch of normal people trying to get to where they needed to be. Even struck up a conversation (during quieter parts of the music) with a guy from the Technikon, who was rather amused with my excitement at this novelty.

Ah. Perceptions can be so damaging...

Friday, 18 May 2007

So what do you do?

It's probably our weird sense of humour, but my husband and I often have a good laugh at some jobs people do. Like, have you ever thought that someone is in a studio singing "At Price & Pride, we're proud to say, that you come first in every way!" with so much emotion!
Imagine: "So, what do you do?"
(Proudly) "Well, I sing for the Price & Pride ad!"

Or "So what do you do?"
(Proudly) "Well, I am that woman that's got constipation in the senokot ad!"
or (proudly) "I am the woman from Sandton that eats Activia and can now poo again!"

There used to be a SA version of Medical Detectives. Often they would have reenactments of the crime. So imagine:
"What do you do?"
(Proudly) "I played the murderer in medical detectives. It was such a feat for me as an actor to drown that woman in the bath!"

Imagine being that guy that wears his underwear over his clothes in the Cash Crusader ads. Somehow he just doesn't pull it off like Superman does. (And believe it or not I know that guy! He was in my high school...) Or being that woman who has such a dirty toilet, or worse even, being one of those 2 dudes that are so enthusaistic about Harpic toilet cleaner.

I think probably the worst job (for that person's mother anyway) is:
"So what do you do?"
(Proudly) "I'm the model on the condom packet!"

These people really must get paid a lot.

Thursday, 17 May 2007

Only in SA...

We must be the only country in the world that has car guards. On top of that we have about 1 car guard to every 10 cars. Nevermind the fact that we have 1 teacher to 50 students in some schools. Car guards are obviously so much more important than education. I've always wondered what a car guard would do if 3 armed men want to come and steal the car he/she is guarding. Armed with nothing but his/her bright yellow bib, obvious directing skills, and keen sense of sight used to spot empty parking spaces, I'm not sure he/she would be able to hold off the attacker for too long.

I know, I know - at least they're not on the street begging. But I've read somewhere that car guards earn from R 4 000 - R 12 000 a month (in Pretoria anyway)!! Imagine. Tax free. On average, they probably earn more than I do. I have, in passing, mentioned to my husband that maybe this would be a good career option for me, but he didn't want to know about it.

In principle I guess it's quite a good idea - someone being there reduces the chance of cars being stolen. If only they would stick to that. Instead they love to metamorphose into driving instructors, waving you wildly out of your parking spot - as if we don't own a driver's licence. Mind you, in South Africa you never know. But for those of us who have passed our driver's legally, I find it rather rude to have a driving lesson every time I leave a parking space. Or when you get to a reasonably empty parking lot they're all over like ants around a sugar bowl, waving you to an open spot, of which there are numerous in sight. Like, HELLO, am I blind? My husband deliberately parks in a space they have not indicated to.

And then I still feel guilty if I don't give them anything, for supposedly looking after my car. How often it's happened that they seem to come out of nowhere when you're ready to leave. Have they really been looking after your car? My husband is ruthless. He just drives away without giving them anything, while I hide my face and hope they don't remember us or our car... I do appreciate them when I am alone with a bunch of shopping and they help me load the car. Then I will give because they have genuinely helped me.

But what really grates our carrot is when we see them coming out of Debonair's with a nice big pizza or sitting in McGinty's having a draft (or 3). Do they really want to be car guards for the rest of their lives? Save man, and study or get a real job.

Maybe I'm being a bit unfair by generalising but they really erk us! My husband and I love shopping at the mall - NO CAR GAURDS!

Wednesday, 16 May 2007

Albert, Mr. Zondo and the sister

One thing I really enjoy about working is the in-jokes you can share with your colleagues. It's those kinds of situations that you and your colleagues find hilarious, but when you tell your friends about it, they look at you blankly or give a forced chuckle. Also known as "location jokes".

Such as Albert - the guy from Venda who kept phoning about his books and wouldn't understand that he didn't deposit enough money into our account. When eventually he twigged on, he deposited too little (AGAIN)! We were so sick of receiving his phonecalls, we sent the books anyway - deciding the R 5 he was short was just not worth it. We were so glad to finally get rid of him, that we could just laugh when, after we had posted the books, we received a fax of a deposit slip: Albert had deposited another R 10 into our account!

Or then there's Mr Zondo, an irate customer who called me one Friday demanding his book. It had been on order for nearly a month and he had called continuosly only to be told it was still coming. He got so upset with me I had to call a superior to help me handle it. I followed up at the publishers and head office, only to find that the order never went through. After much pressure, the publisher sent the book to us within 2 days. I was so glad to see the book, and paged through it with glee. To my horror, though, I discovered that towards the end of the book the pages had been bound upside down!! This rarely happens, but of course it had to happen with Mr Zondo's book...

Then there was a customer whose book ended up being less than he expected, leaving him with a credit of about R 60. Since he was out of town he informed me that he would send his sister to buy some stationery. As usually happens on a quiet day, we were all assembled at the front desk, discussing this particular customer that had a credit and his sister that was coming in to buy stationery. Suddenly a customer appeared in front of us and announced: "I am the sister".

What's a day at work if you can't laugh at least once.

Tuesday, 15 May 2007

Harry Potter and the Recurring Headache

For the past few days I've been getting headaches every afternoon. Without fail, when I come back to work from lunch these headaches rear their ugly head. They aren't splitting, debilitating headaches, but irritating, niggling little headaches that are just sore enough to remind me that they are there, but not serious enough to impair my functioning.

After the second day I started getting suspicious, and since they would only happen in the afternoon, I decided it must be something I'm eating. I watched what I was eating for lunch, opted for a healthier avo and tomato sarmie rather than peanut butter or honey. It seemed to work! Until the next day (Saturday) when this headache returned. And, to my surprise it even made an appearance on Sunday. I was baffled. I was beginning to think that just simply being at work was giving me these headaches. Obviously not.

As any good researcher knows, only once you have eliminated any other factors that could possibly have an effect on a certain situation by disproving the existence of these other possible factors, can you confidently pronounce a single factor as the cause of this situation. This is rarely the case in any research situation.

Having eliminated my diet as a possible cause, I thought that it could be a lack of fresh air in my place of work. Yet on Saturday (since I only worked half-day) and on Sunday the headaches were irritatingly faithful and reliably present. I eliminated all other factors at work. Having worked here for a few months without any changes in the work environment logically implied that it was an outside factor. Next I accused my occasional morning sinus problems as the cause of the headaches. But this too soon proved a dead-end as I have had sinus problems ever since I set foot in PMB, but the first time ever I have had a recurring headache. Even the thought that I might be working too hard crossed my mind. But with an average of 30 customers a day, this seems like a rather absurd suggestion.

So that left me with the last (in my mind anyway) and least attractive reason for these headaches. Maybe I'm getting these headaches because I'm worried. Worried that I'll be stuck in this job, worried about being purposeless, worried about money, friends, my husband, my recurring headache... You name it. The only problem is, if this is the reason, there's nothing I can really do about it. No pill I can take or something I can stop eating to make them go away.

Then last night a friend suggested that these headaches could come from sitting in front of the computer too long. It made so much sense! It's only recently that work has been so quiet that I have to surf the Internet the whole day to avoid going insane with boredom, hence staring at that screen the whole day. Before this quiet period at work there were usually customers to serve or money to count or something. I had decided: this had to be the reason for my headaches.

So today I arrived at work, the Harry Potter book I've been meaning to read for ages tucked safely under my arm. I raced through my morning reports so as to spend as little time in front of the PC as possible. I turned my chair so as not to have any eye contact with the screen whatsoever, settled down in my chair, and started reading. I must have been half-way through page 12, the time about 9:30 when I suddenly felt it.

That familiar pain in my head.

And then it came to me (together with the headache). I suddenly remembered that it was rather peculiar that the start of my recurring headache coincided very neatly with the start of my blogging career...

Monday, 14 May 2007

3 - 30 seconds

I just couldn't believe it. Our pastor mentioned in the sermon on Sunday that research shows that dads have eye contact with their children for a whopping 3 - 30 seconds every day. 3 - 30 seconds?? It made me think of how much eye contact my husband and I have. I sometimes don't look up from what I'm doing when he talks to me, sometimes I am more interested in the TV or the newspaper. I actually felt ashamed. Let's look at each other, pay attention to each other, give of our most precious commodity, especially to those we love - TIME.

Freedom of speech?

I guess it's called freedom of speech.

It really irritates me though that anything negative/critical/"realistic" (as they would argue) about churches and religion seems to take precedence over anything positive about church in the media. Imagine we would have reports about miracles in papers and in the news. I heard a testimony of a parent in church on Sunday about how their little toddler literally drowned, I mean, she was clinically dead, and they managed to resuscitate her. She survived without ANY brain damage what so ever. What a miracle! I guess the media reports on "actual happenings" not "speculation" such as God and miracles. Yet, without hesitation, they are eager to print articles such as "Every man and his God" by Lin Sampson in the Sunday Times Lifestyle section.

I am not member of a Charismatic denomination, yet found this article very unfair. Of course, you do get Charismatic Christians and churches that are over the top, some are even frauds. We've all heard the stories. Nearly everyone has encountered a bad Christian along the way - whether it be from a Charismatic or a Traditional background. But the majority of Charismatic Christians are genuine, with genuine relationships with God, wanting to do God's work, and wanting to make the world a better place. I get the feeling that Lin Sampson didn't write this story with an open mind, but went into this with a pre-conception and prejudice about these churches.

I suspect that some members from traditional churches might be quite pleased with this article: "finally someone who sees them for who they really are". (Charismatic churches aren't innocent of this either - I've heard many stories about accusations made by Charismatic churches about traditionals). All this fighting amongst churches just gives Christians a bad name. I believe we have different churches because we have different needs. Some enjoy and need the tradition, others feel at home with the more charismatic way. Some, like me, enjoy and need both. Bottom line is, we all worship and love the same God, we all believe His Son died for us on the cross, we all experience God and the Holy Spirit, but in different ways.

Why is it so hard for Lin Sampson, and indeed for a lot of others, to believe? To believe that God works and that God performs miracles? Are they scared? Scared they won't be able to control their own lives? Scared that this is all a big hoax? Scared that they might get disappointed? I am not saying that I don't respect people who are not Christian. I have many friends who are not. I respect their opinions and will never force my beliefs down their throat.

But I also expect a respect and understanding in return. I guess for Lin Sampson it was a lot easier to use her head to criticise Charismatic churches, than to use her heart to try and understand.

Saturday, 12 May 2007

Ode to mom



Since I won't be here tomorrow on Mother's Day, today's entry is dedicated to my moms (now that I am married I have two of them!). Both are such unique, wonderful, caring, God-fearing people and have such different talents and gifts that my husband and I are truly blessed to have them both as our moms. Unfortunately we won't be able to be with either of them tomorrow... No coffee in bed, or spoiling mom with making breakfast (even if you burn the croissants and cook the eggs too long), or making Sunday lunch so she can relax. No chance to give a present, or a bunch of flowers to show how much they mean to us. Not even an opportunity to just spend time with our moms, to just be in their presence. So this little gesture of words will have to do.



THANK YOU, from the bottom of our hearts, for ALL you've done for us over they years. For being there for us, for loving us unconditionally, for accepting your "new" children so readily as your own. We appreciate you, we miss you, but most of all, WE LOVE YOU!


Happy Mother's Day, Mom's!




Friday, 11 May 2007

Gender wars

Not sure if anyone watched Noeleen Maholwana Sangqu (so proud I can spell that) the other day. She had 3 men and 3 women in the studio - all radio DJs - debating about the very volatile subject of gender.

It seems to be so "in" to have gender stereotypes. The beer-guzzling, rugby watching male who is alienated from most feelings other than his sex drive; the I-broke-a-nail drama-queen female that spends hours in the bathroom and gets emotional just looking at Paris Hilton's ruddy dog. Don't get me wrong - men and women ARE different (and thank goodness for that - I think male and female complement each other wonderfully), and stereotypes are obviously based on some sort of real life evidence.

I too sometimes make jokes about my husband failing to put his washing in the basket, or me squealing at every little insect I see, but mostly I brag about how my husband cooks for me, does the laundry and does the shopping, while I work. And when you think about it, how many really stereotypical males and females do you know? All the men that I know don't even come close to filling the description of a typical male.

I guess stereotypes come along when all the things that might be typical of many different men or women is put together, so you end up with one picture of a typical male/female. In real life one man or woman probably only exhibits one or two of the typical male/female attributes.

But maybe this is why there is so much misunderstanding between males and females. Instead of trying to understand each other we just assume (when you assume u make an ass out of u and me!) that all the stereotypes are correct. I was surprised to see how the women in 3 Talk were hurling accusations at the men - they were just on the attack. "All men lie" the one female DJ said. Gee man, don't we all lie sometimes? The poor men had to scramble to try and defend themselves.

As a woman I sometimes feel ashamed at the way power has gone to some women's heads. Put the wrong kind of woman in power and she becomes a nightmare - a self-righteous, arrogant witch. Why do some women, when they get into power, seem to loose all those things that make them approachable, humble and attractive?

I love being vulnerable in front of my husband. I love being protected when a big scary insect flies into the room. Deep down, don't all women want that (this is the ONE stereotype I will allow myself!)?? This doesn't mean that I am weak. My husband and I understand each other. We respect our many differences and celebrate them. We complement each other wonderfully. I think this is the way that God intended it. Not for men to be better or above women (the world's patriarchal history could be the cause of women's attitude [my perception] towards men), but for men and women to be partners, equals, side-by-side, completing each other.

Thursday, 10 May 2007

Disposables, Semi-disposables and Survivors

Attended an interesting discussion last night, entitled "What shall we sing?". The talk was basically about the tension between hymns and more comtemporary and modern Christian music. I went there with an open mind, determined not to let emotions override my sound judgement of the speaker's thorough research into the field. I decided not to let whispers of an underground dissatisfaction with the worship team (of which I am part) influence my attitude towards this evening.

The speaker spoke very knowledgeably about church music and how in every era you have the "survivors" (those that make the grade and get into official hymnbooks), the "semi-disposables" (those that make it into song collections of that time), and the "disposables" (those that don't even make it into any compilations, and are forgotten within a few years). The speaker also mentioned that each era has a specific theme that songs focus on. In the early half of the 20th century, the theme was on mission (in this country anyway). In the 60's, 70's and even 80's it was about loving your neighbour - focus on social responsibility.

Even though I was still young, I clearly recall my parents having weekly Biblestudies in their lounge, singing out of these very compilations that were "in" at the time, singing these very songs about loving your neighbour. It was a little sad for me to realise that only a few of these songs will or have survived into this next era:

The praise and worship era. This is my era. The music I feel at home with, the music I use in my quiet times, the songs I sing to praise God, to worship God, to thank God, to lament to God, to feel close to God. This is how I feel about these "disposable" or "semi-disposable" songs. This is how my parents probably felt about the songs in their era, and how my grandparents felt about their era songs.

And this is how the cycle goes. Sooner or later there will be a new era, with a new theme. And only a handful of these songs that I find so meaningful will make the grade and fill the few coveted positions in our hymnbooks. A bunch of people that sit down and decide over the fate of a song that could mean the world to me, but probably not mean much to them.

BUT in a time where church membership is dwindling, especially in my denomination, is it really of such importance to ascertain which era we are in and which songs will be the ones that make it into the next hymnbook? Is it not much more important to discover which songs are meaningful for the youth? Those people who are the FUTURE of our church? If we don't, we might end up with wonderfully compiled hymnbooks but no-one to sing out of them.

Wednesday, 09 May 2007

We're for dogs

Since we're on the subject of pets, I want to talk a little about dogs.

We never had dogs as kids. My mother maintained it was a nusance to have them because there was no-one to look after them when we were on holiday, and she feared that she would end up having to pick up the poo and feed them and wash them etc (which most likely would have been the case).

I remember my gran counting (and complaining about) the number of dogs she'd see on the beach - despite the numerous NO DOGS ALLOWED signs.

The only canine exposure I received in childhood was at the homes of our relatives who all, without fail, owned a daschund or two. As I think upon it now it seems rather bizarre that they chose this very breed. Daschunds are yappers through and through. Yappy and irritating. But cute nonetheless. They gleefully peed on you to show their appreciation that you'd arrived.

When I was younger still my mother got a nasty bite from a German Shepherd, while dropping one of our kindergarten colleagues at their house.

The boerbull belonging to my landlord nearly mauled a friend of mine who was picking me up for the weekend when I was a student. Her children didn't stop harrassing me about how dangerous "MY" dog was, and how "MY" dog had bitten their mother.

Other than that I have been pretty indifferent to canines and their antics.

Until I met my husband. My husband loves dogs more than he does people. He says they are uncomplicated and they just love you back; they accept you for who you are. I see his point. Frequently he will reminisce about dogs they had, and fondly recall the nuances in their unique personalities, and how they became part of the family.

This strong, brave, hunk of a man that's my husband literally melts when he sees a dog. I watch with overwhelming affection as he becomes a delighted, sensitive little boy, his face lit up as he engrosses himself in the moment with this dog.

Despite my numerous unpleasant encounters with the canine kind, I am for dogs. Not because I am particularly mad about them, but because I am particularly mad about my husband.

Tuesday, 08 May 2007

Hamster in a wheel

We had a hamster once. The poor thing got suddenly paralysed when we were giving it its weekly free run in the bathroom. We were horried to see his two little back legs suddenly dragging behind him.. Poor Fluffy died shortly afterwards. Which makes me wonder: would he have been better off in his little hamster wheel?

I feel like a hamster in a wheel today. Just going through the motions. I get up every morning, eat my 3 pieces of fruit, go to work, come home for lunch, go back to work, come home, go for a run with my husband, cook, watch some TV and then sleep. Is this what it's like to have a career? I probably shouldn't be complaining. At least I have a job. And a wonderful husband! I'm not even sure that I am complaining. Maybe, after 5 years of studying - i.e. irregular schedules, sleeping late, different assignments and classes every week, 3 months of holidays a year etc - I am just trying to adjust to this new lifestyle.

Life is what you make of it, right? Maybe I should change my perception of my hamster wheel. It is safe and comfortable in my wheel, and good practice for when I venture out of it one day. Yes. I am happy in my wheel for now. Maybe venturing out of it when I shouldn't could put me in the same predicament as Fluffy was in on that fateful day.

SIGH

I guess in the end I should just be honest with myself and admit that this is an issue of purpose. No matter how much I try to put on my fushe pink coloured glasses, the fact of the matter is that I am, at the moment, purposeless. I pray often for God to reveal His purpose to me. Maybe His purpose for me is, at this point, to be right here where I am. Right here in my little hamster wheel.

Monday, 07 May 2007

Definition of a "Good Day"

I would classify today as a good day. Good because, even though it's Monday, work is quiet and relaxed and I've already done most of what I need to do today. Good because my manager gave me a good rating for my first ever performance appraisal. Good because my back is nearly back to normal - after an over-exerting run on Saturday I was in agony with a sprained or pulled muscle, fearing something much worse. Good, because socially we had a very successful and enjoyable weekend. Good because we want to go see SPIDERMAN 3 today.

But most of all this is a GOOD DAY because I discovered more money in my account than expected. A rarety I think in anyone's life. My company paid me more than I expected. Suddenly the possibilities are endless. The beauty of a strict budget (as we are following at the moment) is that any little bit extra can be used for anything your heart desires. Not for emergency groceries, or that doctor's bill that needs to be paid, or the cambelt that needs replacing. You budget for all of those. This money could evolve into a romantic weekend away, a new addition to your wardrobe, a bigger birthday present for your husband...

Friday, 04 May 2007

Gnomes

Gnomes are usually old. Old men with long white beards, rounded tummies and red pointy hats. Sometimes you get Mrs Gnome or the odd gnome-child making an appearance, but mostly gnomes are male and rather old.

Apparently when I was born I was so tiny that I earned this nickname...

Remember the garden gnome in the movie Amelie? The one who travelled around the whole world, inspiring his owner to do the same... What a nice thought. An inspirational travelling gnome.

Is a name a self-fulfilling prophecy? One that you live up to because it has been assigned to you? Or has there been some hand in this - a Godly hand - that has moved your name-givers to give you a name that epitomises you...

A new blogger is born

So this is it then. I have finally taken the brave step and set up my very own blog. For months I have wanted to. I had sleepless nights about what to call myself and my blog. Had discussions with my husband about the privacy issue. Heard my mother ponder the necessity and absurdity of a blog. Read other blogs with much interest, and was very inspired by Mrs. M's blog.

So here I am. A new-born, defenceless infant blogger.

Welcome to GNOMELAND