What is there to say?

While we are mourning the loss of our friend, others are rejoicing to meet him behind the veil.  ~John Taylor

I am feeling very emotional today.  In addition to learning about the death ofour pastor on Sunday, I  learnt yesterday that there was someone else that I knew from years ago in the same car, who also did not make it out alive, and I am left reeling.

This loss has really left me overwhelmed with a feeling of futility.

Gone is another good man, with his life barely lived.  A man that had overcome all odds and survived a car accident years ago that he really shouldn’t have, who go up from his wheelchair when it was thought impossible and through it all kept a smile on his face and always had a kind word to say. He was kind, generous and a very talented blade smith. And now?


It seems silly that I should be so upset about someone that I had not seen nor spoken to for a very long time, I am not even part of that community any more.  But my heart is. Vey much so. And it hurts to see another loss. Alot.

My thoughts and prayers are with his family.

Rest in peace Werner.


The loss of a great man

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.  ~Kahlil Gibran

I have always believed that we meet certain people in our lives at specific time when there is something that we need to learn from them, and when that is done, the ‘relationship’ tends to wane (not in a bad, I-never-want-to-see-you kind of way, it just sorts of runs its course). It could be a simple lesson or something monumental, it doesn’t matter. There are a couple of people in my life that has taught me something that I needed to learn at the time. Sadly one of them passed away yesterday, and I am just overwhelmed with sadness today.

There are certain constants in life, love and loss being but one.  There was a time, almost 18 years ago, where the scales were tipped towards the former and seemed that it would never be righted again.  My sister had just passed away, with the memory of my father’s death scarcely erased from our minds, although it had been a number of years, grief does not tell time.  We were shattered, and barely hanging on by a thread. It all seemed so.pointless.  Forlorn and browbeaten, we could scarcely muster up the courage to answer the scores of mourners that trundled across our door, bringing food and condolences. Our family pastor really held us together at that time.  His words brought comfort where none was to be found. He helped.tipped.the.scales. He taught us that we are able to go on, even when we feel that we can’t.

Living in a farming community, everything revolves around the church.  All our social gatherings were there, the pastor and his family were much more than their title. They were family.

Yesterday we lost a member of that family.  Our pastor passed away unexpectedly, and the loss has left us reeling.

So today I am remembering a great man. A man that did not think twice to stop off his sermon mid-sentence to be a father, to tell his kids off when they did not keep quiet, or us too, for that matter.

I remember a man that was not afraid to stand up for those who could not do it themselves (myself included) and pay tribute to all the good that he has done in my life and everyone else that had the good fortune to have him cross their path at some time or another.

We will mourn your loss and hope that we may help carry your wife and sons that stayed behind, such as you helped carry us.

Rest in Peace Dr J Steenkamp.


Murphy’s Bitch

Feck I wish it would rain, then at least when someone sees me looking like someone threw up on my cornflakes this morning I can mumble something about it being the AWFUL weather.

If only…

Now it is sunny and I am supposed to be all happy and smiley, because that is what people do when it is sunny right?  Fuck off.

I am channelling my inner Bitch/Demon/Grinch/Ted Bundi and am well on my way to make a few enemies in the office.  <days like these I wish I had a subordinate that I could be mean to, just to make me feel better>

It is a good thing I am not Catholic, otherwise I would have had to do so many Hail Mary’s for all my murderous thoughts this week, I wouldn’t have finished until after my thirtieth birthday (Feck, another thing to be depressed about).

I am having a truly shite week.  The only good thing about this week is that it is almost over. Thank. Goodness.

This week started out with a flu, not mine, mind you, but my husband’s, that quickly became my son’s, which then became mine, my father in-law’s, my mother in-law’s and you get where I am going with this, right?

If the flu wasn’t enough, along with it, my son got a bit of pink eyes.   Have you ever tried putting eye cream into the eye of a toddler?

Typically, I think, it should be done under sedation, preferably mine. The tube is so tiny, that you really should be issued with some tweezers when they dispense it, then the moment you get the microscopic lid off, all the pink-eyes-fighting-goodness inside squirts out. At that point you are trying to find, restrain and prop open the eyelids of a screaming, flailing, kicking toddler. After what seems like hours struggle, but really it was only a minute or ten, I gave up.  There was cream just about everywhere, except for inside his eyes; the forehead is also part of the eye, right?

All of this fun and laughter culminated in call from my boss to crap on me from on high, granted it was in the wrong, but that still doesn’t make the call any more pleasant.

So today, having been excused <read fired> from my Florence Nightingale duties, I came back to the office for some well deserved silent treatment and a generous helping of some strained atmosphere.

I am starting to understand why some people keep hard liqour in their desk drawers.


Sleepless in Marina


This post contains some vivid imagery, if you are at all like me, and think in pictures, I would suggest that you read no further. The author cannot and will not be held responsible for any therapy that you may need as a result of this post.*

This has been a week from hell in the sleeping department.  Somewhere during last weekend, my toddler has been replaced with someone else’s.  Can’t be mine, mine slept like an angel.

DH goes away every month for a week for work, he has done this since T’s birth, so there is nothing new, he has always taken it in his stride, and although I try to lessen the impact by spending extra quality time, this week it is simply not doing the trick.

He has been waking every night, without fail, at 2:00.  Not with the usual gurgling laughter and smiles, but with big crocodile tears and loud wails. He won’t take his bottle, dummy or even his beloved bunny (although Bunny’s shares have dropped decidedly since he donned some clothes-Gotta love Build a Bear).  The only way he calms down is by putting him in bed with me, which has left me with very little sleep as sharing a bed with him is the equivalent of sharing a bed with a hyperactive octopus or similar.

<I honestly don’t know how the co-sleeping parents do it, I am as ratty as a bear with toothache and it is been nary a week, I cannot imagine that this should be a permanent arrangement (apart from the fact of course that sharing a bed is as good as taking birth control-definitely not high on the list when TTC).>

Last night things got pretty out of hand.  He would not stop screaming, even when he was in the bed with me.  I was not even allowed to turn or move an inch.  As Murphy would have it that was about the same time that I had to go to the little girls room with the mother of all pee’s and there was just no getting up out of bed. Eventually, by the time that it felt I was about to spontaneously combust it seemed that he had finally fallen asleep.

I had barely gotten to the bathroom when he jumped up out of bed and proceeded to run about the house, frantically looking for me, while screaming at the top of his little lungs.  After a week of this it is little wonder the neighbours won’t greet me anymore. Any the way, this little tirade culminated, with him sitting on my lap, while I was on the loo.

I was really trying very hard at that point to hang onto the last dregs of sleep while trying to wipe and not have a complete sense of humour failure.  Alas twenty minutes later his was snoring his sweet cheeks off and I, was counting sheep.

Needless to say I am feeling rather green around the gills today and all would be well served to steer clear of me, as I am very likely to bite.


I had an epiphany…

I think I know why so very few Americans read…it is because Catcher in the Rye is their prescribed book (much like “Circles in the Forest” and “Fiela se kind“) was ours.

What a laborious book, reading my Constitutional law handbook is more entertaining.  The worst part is you keep on hoping above all hope that  it is going to improve so you keep on turning the pages, thinking thís is the page, and when it turns out it isn’t you tend to wallow in your disappointment. Every turn of page made me feel like I had just been dumped.

I wonder how it made it on the BBC’s list of books that should be on your bucket list.

Just saying, that it is definitely not the kind of book that engender a passion for reading. The only book that can rival it in the snore factor could possibly be Ulysses.  I am always amazed that James Joyce managed to stay awake long enough to finish it. Sadly that too, has found its way to the 100 Best Books by the BBC.


Not ready to make nice…

I have been walking around with this post in my head, vacillating between should I or shouldn’t I.  But what the heck…here it goes

One of my favourite songs “I am not ready to make nice” by the Dixie Chicks. I feel like the song has been written to me, it really speaks to me. It. is. just. so. honest. So. Refreshing.

I like the message behind it, to me; it says that it is okay to be angry.  Maybe it is just me, but I am forever being told that I should be grateful, that I am not allowed to become angry.

I am not trying to say, woe is little me and the world is against me, it is just that I would like to be angry for once, without being told that it is wrong.

Case in point: after the accident I was spitting mad, I thought it was a seriously effed-up thing to have happen, and for a split second (perhaps longer) there I turned my head to the sky and I thought, what the hell next, seriously? When is it going to be enough? (My mom pointed out that enough would be the day I died). I recall a conversation with a friend of mine afterwards where she kept on saying we were so lucky and it could have been worse etc etc. I remember telling her that I don’t exactly feel lucky (granted she did call right at that precarious time when my pain-killers induced euphoria were wearing thin but it was not quite yet time to take another).  The. point. is. I was not allowed to be angry.

Why is that? I don’t mean that we should bear all our emotions all the time and throw temper-tantrums like 2 year olds (although sometimes it would be nice), I am talking about a free-pass every now and again.  I quite like the idea of screaming at the top of your lungs to get it all out (bearing in mind that you do this at a suitable venue).

The Japanese for instance talk about “kami”.

“[A kami is] any thing or phenomenon that produces the emotions of fear and awe, with no distinction between good and evil-Wikipedia

The idea (such as I understood it) is that kami can be translates into emotions, they believe that if bad kami builds up in your body it can cause you to become ill and even cause your death and that it is very important that you expel these bad kami’s in order to remain balanced, and this should get all the men’s attention, it was believed that this “expulsion”-if you would pardon the pun- was achieved through s.e.x.u.a.l i.n.t.e.r.c.o.u.r.s.e. (was easy for the men though, they had concubines, sometimes even several-no such thing as “I have a headache”).

The point I am trying to make, in between all this rambling, is that not expelling these bad kami’s we tend to bottle up other stuff too, and before you know it you are living completely in your own head, and we tend to miss the things around us.

Tonight I plan to go to the lake and scream like a banshee…anyone in?