I am totally panic-stricken at the thought of a life without books. I mean what will I give as presents for Birthdays/Christmas/Holidays/Weddings? I mean books are my fail safe. They're my favourite gift to give. You scrawl a meaningful message on the inside of the cover, you hang onto every nuance and hidden message in the prose and hope that the recipient finds them as enticing and delectable as you do, and your kids lay sprawled on the floor, touching the pages, totally immersed into the fantasy.
How do you remove that and give them a little glowing pod/pad/nano/tablet that connects to the internet. How do you replicate the feeling of the pages underneath the fingers. How do you recharge your glowing reading instrument when there is a power failure. How do you give your dog eared copy of a favourite story from 1986 to your friend to read when its all stored on a little inanimate cold hard piece of plastic and perhaps chrome?
Frightfully more is the thought of why I am so against change. I understand less trees used etc (in theory) less damage to the earth. But surely all the little glowing LED's or circuits, etc contain lead or mercury or some poison that will fill up the landfills just as quick as paper books would? Maybe newer textbooks will be available faster to the schools etc.
But honestly, coming from South Africa, where internet connectivity and electricity are fantastical ideas from the future, a dream for most, only a given for the elite in cities earning lots of money, paper books can not be made redundant just yet? Surely they are still treasures, not has beens?
Im so confused and I am so bereft. I remember pouring over silly novels with friends. I think of the dictionary I used in school, given to my dad by my mom when he went to college in 1977. I see her neat perfect block shaped letters, and the xxx's she put at the bottom, kisses that remained stored in the little time capsule between the covers.
I remember intimate moments, spent between the sheets, my favourite book and I, hours on end, reading, pouring over the characters and the plot, and immersing myself in a forever fantasy type state. I dont see myself being as open or relaxed with a cold hard piece of plastic.
Maybe we dont read anymore. Maybe our stories are made from one liners, captured from twitter, facebook, some random status update, a chapter given in byte-sized installments...
One of the first basics of parenting that I attach myself to is to provide books for your children to read, so they can delve into the crevices in their minds, escape here, form alternate realities, the proverbial vicarious experience, but no where do parenting books say thou shalt provide internet connectivity so thy child can download a book to read on a plastic tablet.
It just confuses me. I know its irrational. I hear echoes from movies, "You cant stop progress"... but is this progress really? Or is this an emerging market that I have the right to refuse?
Monday, July 18, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Instructions on how to run your house.
10 [b]A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.
11 Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.
12 She brings him good, not harm,
all the days of her life.
13 She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands.
14 She is like the merchant ships,
bringing her food from afar.
15 She gets up while it is still night;
she provides food for her family
and portions for her female servants.
16 She considers a field and buys it;
out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
17 She sets about her work vigorously;
her arms are strong for her tasks.
18 She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.
19 In her hand she holds the distaff
and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
20 She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.
21 When it snows, she has no fear for her household;
for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
22 She makes coverings for her bed;
she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
23 Her husband is respected at the city gate,
where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.
24 She makes linen garments and sells them,
and supplies the merchants with sashes.
25 She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
26 She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
27 She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
28 Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
29 “Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all.”
30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.
31 Honor her for all that her hands have done,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
Prov 31
She is worth far more than rubies.
11 Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.
12 She brings him good, not harm,
all the days of her life.
13 She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands.
14 She is like the merchant ships,
bringing her food from afar.
15 She gets up while it is still night;
she provides food for her family
and portions for her female servants.
16 She considers a field and buys it;
out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
17 She sets about her work vigorously;
her arms are strong for her tasks.
18 She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.
19 In her hand she holds the distaff
and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
20 She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.
21 When it snows, she has no fear for her household;
for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
22 She makes coverings for her bed;
she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
23 Her husband is respected at the city gate,
where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.
24 She makes linen garments and sells them,
and supplies the merchants with sashes.
25 She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
26 She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
27 She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
28 Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
29 “Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all.”
30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.
31 Honor her for all that her hands have done,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
Prov 31
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Loving alien seeks home planet?
I do not agree with the mainstream school when it comes to immigration. I do believe that certain types of individuals should not be allowed to immigrate or should be barred from places based off of their past behaviour... but I do believe that the majority of people are GOOD and they should be allowed to move freely from place to place. We are humans. We are not cattle.
Nor are we extraterrestrial. That is why I find the term 'alien' to be so derogatory. Yes of course, the literal translation is 'a foreigner' but the modern associations of the word all lean towards something from M. Night Shyamalans latest summer thriller, corn fields, crop circles, eerie bleep bloop noises, and large eyed grey things coming to beam you up in the middle of the night and perform God only knows what on your unconscious body....
Yet this term 'alien' I believe is used exactly for that purpose, for the distance it places between us. Yet I have to tell you that I am no different from the Zimbabwean who runs through the Kruger park at night on the way to South Africa, nor from the droves of South Americans who slip their way into the United States at night.
The thing that KILLS me is there are few people who are actually from the countries they are in. The rest are immigrants who then spend a lot of time talking about the us and the them, and the us try to keep the them out of here.
What a stupid way to spend your life, in fear of other people. Surely there have to be far more profitable ways to spend your time?
From a logistical and fiscal point of view, I do believe that everyone who enters a country should be registered, and accounted for and given an identity number and if social services are required, then taxes need to be paid. Then immigrations witch hunt would be focused on people who do not follow registration rules in a humane way, because currently the immigration rules ARE NOT HUMANE.
A very small percentage of people actually qualify to live in America. The immigration process is so restrictive. Yet may I point out please, there were no white men or black men originally here in America, those brown people youre trying to keep out, they were here first!! Their ancestors moved freely up through Mexico into the States long before there was a toll booth and border patrol and helicopters swooping down like pterodactyls in the night....
I think you should rather reprimand people for being lazy, and not for the countries of their birth. How about deporting people for stupidity or for their inability to contribute positively to the rest of humanity? Those are things you CAN control. Where you are born, and to whom you can not control.
I think the immigration rules were a great idea in theory. But their application has failed because of one element. The Human Element. You can not tear families apart because they dont have the $5000 plus per person to apply for permanent residence and then citizenship.
I believe the borders should be opened up. Its going to happen sooner or later anyways. I dont see it as divisions of resources available. I dont see it as a bad thing. I see it as an increase in manpower, an increase in taxes paid (if people are registered), and an increase in the legal population, because theyre not going home you know. They go home, and some lazy ass white girl is going to have to start cleaning toilets at McDonalds.America cant cope without our illegal helpers. So how about we help them?
Nor are we extraterrestrial. That is why I find the term 'alien' to be so derogatory. Yes of course, the literal translation is 'a foreigner' but the modern associations of the word all lean towards something from M. Night Shyamalans latest summer thriller, corn fields, crop circles, eerie bleep bloop noises, and large eyed grey things coming to beam you up in the middle of the night and perform God only knows what on your unconscious body....
Yet this term 'alien' I believe is used exactly for that purpose, for the distance it places between us. Yet I have to tell you that I am no different from the Zimbabwean who runs through the Kruger park at night on the way to South Africa, nor from the droves of South Americans who slip their way into the United States at night.
The thing that KILLS me is there are few people who are actually from the countries they are in. The rest are immigrants who then spend a lot of time talking about the us and the them, and the us try to keep the them out of here.
What a stupid way to spend your life, in fear of other people. Surely there have to be far more profitable ways to spend your time?
From a logistical and fiscal point of view, I do believe that everyone who enters a country should be registered, and accounted for and given an identity number and if social services are required, then taxes need to be paid. Then immigrations witch hunt would be focused on people who do not follow registration rules in a humane way, because currently the immigration rules ARE NOT HUMANE.
A very small percentage of people actually qualify to live in America. The immigration process is so restrictive. Yet may I point out please, there were no white men or black men originally here in America, those brown people youre trying to keep out, they were here first!! Their ancestors moved freely up through Mexico into the States long before there was a toll booth and border patrol and helicopters swooping down like pterodactyls in the night....
I think you should rather reprimand people for being lazy, and not for the countries of their birth. How about deporting people for stupidity or for their inability to contribute positively to the rest of humanity? Those are things you CAN control. Where you are born, and to whom you can not control.
I think the immigration rules were a great idea in theory. But their application has failed because of one element. The Human Element. You can not tear families apart because they dont have the $5000 plus per person to apply for permanent residence and then citizenship.
I believe the borders should be opened up. Its going to happen sooner or later anyways. I dont see it as divisions of resources available. I dont see it as a bad thing. I see it as an increase in manpower, an increase in taxes paid (if people are registered), and an increase in the legal population, because theyre not going home you know. They go home, and some lazy ass white girl is going to have to start cleaning toilets at McDonalds.America cant cope without our illegal helpers. So how about we help them?
Monday, June 13, 2011
Nationality?
I went to a charming little baby shower this weekend. It was a traditional female only event full of silly little baby games and a smorgasbord of delectable little nibbles. I sat across from a very well kept lady, around my age, although I would say she was far sophisticated in her attire and mannerisms (to the point that she was rigid and a lark) I kept feeling how I could very easily choose to emulate her, with all her stiffness and confines but more and more I am choosing to be colloquial and more free in my presentation.
I keep wondering if this is a part of my American transformation. Or if this is just honestly who I am supposed to be? My entire early years were spent with constant emulation (emulation is the highest form of praise, so those that I emulated, I only adored you)...to the point that I felt like an empty hollow shell. I could be whom ever you wanted me to be. Yet I had no idea of my 'true self'. My median core value was wistfulness and longing, a haunting longing to be someone else, and never myself.
Yet my elder years (closer to 30 and to 31) have been on the constant hunt for my 'true self'... yet 'true identity' is also always open to interpretation.
I find that my speech is more varied. I have adopted into my patter the American humour that surrounds me. Yet I have a hard time relinquishing the vowels from my words. I also refuse to say Boo-eeee for buoy. But I am not feint or weak hearted at the thought of floating down a river or hanging out at the lake. Practically any puddle will do.
And as much as I am adverse to them, I understand the need for paper plates. Never polystyrene (they do not degrade) but paper.
I think the most major change is instead of seeing the differences, I now see the similarities. I see the humour. I see layers and layers of mirth in common situations. I see the collective force of humanity.
But honestly, getting back to our rigid aforementioned lady above, I really think I identify most with the rednecks. There are a couple things that really sit well with me when it comes to the redneck identity.
* Relaxed and laid back
* Come as you are, no dress code
*All are welcome, open door policy
* I will treat you like youre part of my family, your kids are my kids, vice versa
* I am going to feed you and fall over myself to keep your cup full
* No airs and graces, what you see is what you get
* Fun loving and outdoorsy. Horses, quad bikes, pools, lakes, rivers, BBQ, sun, mosquitoes and laughter.
I keep wondering if this is a part of my American transformation. Or if this is just honestly who I am supposed to be? My entire early years were spent with constant emulation (emulation is the highest form of praise, so those that I emulated, I only adored you)...to the point that I felt like an empty hollow shell. I could be whom ever you wanted me to be. Yet I had no idea of my 'true self'. My median core value was wistfulness and longing, a haunting longing to be someone else, and never myself.
Yet my elder years (closer to 30 and to 31) have been on the constant hunt for my 'true self'... yet 'true identity' is also always open to interpretation.
I find that my speech is more varied. I have adopted into my patter the American humour that surrounds me. Yet I have a hard time relinquishing the vowels from my words. I also refuse to say Boo-eeee for buoy. But I am not feint or weak hearted at the thought of floating down a river or hanging out at the lake. Practically any puddle will do.
And as much as I am adverse to them, I understand the need for paper plates. Never polystyrene (they do not degrade) but paper.
I think the most major change is instead of seeing the differences, I now see the similarities. I see the humour. I see layers and layers of mirth in common situations. I see the collective force of humanity.
But honestly, getting back to our rigid aforementioned lady above, I really think I identify most with the rednecks. There are a couple things that really sit well with me when it comes to the redneck identity.
* Relaxed and laid back
* Come as you are, no dress code
*All are welcome, open door policy
* I will treat you like youre part of my family, your kids are my kids, vice versa
* I am going to feed you and fall over myself to keep your cup full
* No airs and graces, what you see is what you get
* Fun loving and outdoorsy. Horses, quad bikes, pools, lakes, rivers, BBQ, sun, mosquitoes and laughter.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The tail wagging the dog.
I never set out to become who I am today. Mostly it has been a circumstance that has dictated the forging or adoption of new behaviours or models that become the routines and structures of our every day life. Of course having children in the house lean absolutely everything towards them. I am surrounded by 8x10 photos of their beautiful little faces, a constant reminder of who I am and what I am supposed to accomplish here.
First and foremost, this is a childrens household. Whilst I may have a forked tongue and suffer from a bit of verbal diarrhea (f-bombs) I blame that on being sagittarius and a monkey and needing to make people laugh. I know that can be accomplished without such colourful language, but sometimes its just funny. I have told my six year old not to repeat the f word etc in front of her teacher, friends, etc... but shes well aware of it. I dont think in this day and age that its anything too shocking. I mean its all over the media. But is it boorish and common, yes. So yup not my proudest thing... rather a work in progress.
It just occurred to me this weekend (I am a slow learner) that I have a very different style of parenting than other people. I am a bit loud naturally. So I often raise my voice. When I am aware of it, I may take my nagging and moaning and turn it into a joke to soften the blow, or a sing song, laugh along... meanwhile I am deadly serious, pick up that stuffed pony or I am going to throw it into the nearest dumpster because I am so darn tired of falling over it and listening to my own voice saying PICK UP YOUR TOYS!!!!!!
So my girls know I am like Grandpa (always blame the patriarch) who has a quick fiery fuse, and like mom, we're kind of like cherry bombs, big bang, some smoke, but not a lot of damage. At least for the most part, on a certain basic level, you know where you stand with me. I dont hold grudges for eternity. I am quick to forget, but yes I do have a temper.
I also do most of the discipline as poor Daddio is away working his 60 hour weeks... and is exhausted when he comes home :( Quite a burden and why I felt it necessary to quench my nagging suspicions that I am a slave driver parent, who pushes my kids too far.
So dear Dr. Phil provided this lovely quiz http://www.drphil.com/assets/a/a0170fbd26b6c36fa62c08ef9bf049b3.pdf which enlightened me to the fact that I am not an awful parent, just a go getter parent, the authoritarian- equalitarian parent....
I spend an awful amount of time obsessing about my children and pondering, and ruminating on their welfare and development... So I am the pushy parent, we have chores, things everyone must do to make the house function. My kids are great kids. But even the two year old puts her diapers in the trash, her clothes in the wash, and gets in trouble for inappropriate behaviour. Whining and whinging are punished with banishment into ones bedroom. The old adage of seen but not heard is alive and well in our house. If you are being a fool you will definitely not be given an audience. If you are being a delight, we will smile at you, put you on a pedestal and clap with enthusiasm.
Just I look around and I feel like I am the only one exhausting myself with the explanations, the education, the installation of mores and certitudes. When I discipline my kids in public (could be a smack for a dangerous problem, like trying to undo ones buckle and open the door before the car is turned off)...(or could be time out at the pool because of too much screaming)... I am met with these inquiring eyes... Like let them be kids. Dont push too much. Dont corral them too much. Dont define them too much. Dont choose for them too much. I dont choose for them on all things. As they get older I do take their feelings and wants and needs into consideration. Am I at fault for making my kids go getters. Am I at fault for telling them everything they cant do (like running with knives) and am I at fault for encouraging them and telling them everything they can do (like swimming and actually getting wet instead of being perched on the top of several floaties?)...
Mostly I see them look to me. If I say I love playing tennis and I love hitting the ball, my daughters will say they love playing tennis and they love hitting the ball too. Both of my babies get water up their noses and in their eyes in the pool. I go under the water and get water in my nose, and in my eyes in the pool too! We emerge and I smile at them and say "good girls, you CAN swim like a fishy!" and they smile back to me.
My point is that before they can have an opinion about themselves, they mimic yours. So give them a good base. Give them a positive base. Encourage them. Coax them. Make them be a bit uncomfortable at times. The end result is so worth it. My six year old rode a horse two week ends ago on a four mile trail all by herself. I cant express how delighted she was, full of SELF satisfaction. Where did she get the idea she could do it from, she got it from her mom and her dad. She got it from us.
Teach your kids to be polite, well mannered, WELL GROOMED FOR HEAVENS SAKE, thankful, to be adventurous, to just try things. To just experience things.
You only have them for such a short time before they are too set and too scared and too intimidated by everything. You only have today.
Im not saying my kids will be perfect. But what I love most about them, is that they try. They lock eyes with us for reassurance. We smile at them. And they take the plunge.
First and foremost, this is a childrens household. Whilst I may have a forked tongue and suffer from a bit of verbal diarrhea (f-bombs) I blame that on being sagittarius and a monkey and needing to make people laugh. I know that can be accomplished without such colourful language, but sometimes its just funny. I have told my six year old not to repeat the f word etc in front of her teacher, friends, etc... but shes well aware of it. I dont think in this day and age that its anything too shocking. I mean its all over the media. But is it boorish and common, yes. So yup not my proudest thing... rather a work in progress.
It just occurred to me this weekend (I am a slow learner) that I have a very different style of parenting than other people. I am a bit loud naturally. So I often raise my voice. When I am aware of it, I may take my nagging and moaning and turn it into a joke to soften the blow, or a sing song, laugh along... meanwhile I am deadly serious, pick up that stuffed pony or I am going to throw it into the nearest dumpster because I am so darn tired of falling over it and listening to my own voice saying PICK UP YOUR TOYS!!!!!!
So my girls know I am like Grandpa (always blame the patriarch) who has a quick fiery fuse, and like mom, we're kind of like cherry bombs, big bang, some smoke, but not a lot of damage. At least for the most part, on a certain basic level, you know where you stand with me. I dont hold grudges for eternity. I am quick to forget, but yes I do have a temper.
I also do most of the discipline as poor Daddio is away working his 60 hour weeks... and is exhausted when he comes home :( Quite a burden and why I felt it necessary to quench my nagging suspicions that I am a slave driver parent, who pushes my kids too far.
So dear Dr. Phil provided this lovely quiz http://www.drphil.com/assets/a/a0170fbd26b6c36fa62c08ef9bf049b3.pdf which enlightened me to the fact that I am not an awful parent, just a go getter parent, the authoritarian- equalitarian parent....
I spend an awful amount of time obsessing about my children and pondering, and ruminating on their welfare and development... So I am the pushy parent, we have chores, things everyone must do to make the house function. My kids are great kids. But even the two year old puts her diapers in the trash, her clothes in the wash, and gets in trouble for inappropriate behaviour. Whining and whinging are punished with banishment into ones bedroom. The old adage of seen but not heard is alive and well in our house. If you are being a fool you will definitely not be given an audience. If you are being a delight, we will smile at you, put you on a pedestal and clap with enthusiasm.
Just I look around and I feel like I am the only one exhausting myself with the explanations, the education, the installation of mores and certitudes. When I discipline my kids in public (could be a smack for a dangerous problem, like trying to undo ones buckle and open the door before the car is turned off)...(or could be time out at the pool because of too much screaming)... I am met with these inquiring eyes... Like let them be kids. Dont push too much. Dont corral them too much. Dont define them too much. Dont choose for them too much. I dont choose for them on all things. As they get older I do take their feelings and wants and needs into consideration. Am I at fault for making my kids go getters. Am I at fault for telling them everything they cant do (like running with knives) and am I at fault for encouraging them and telling them everything they can do (like swimming and actually getting wet instead of being perched on the top of several floaties?)...
Mostly I see them look to me. If I say I love playing tennis and I love hitting the ball, my daughters will say they love playing tennis and they love hitting the ball too. Both of my babies get water up their noses and in their eyes in the pool. I go under the water and get water in my nose, and in my eyes in the pool too! We emerge and I smile at them and say "good girls, you CAN swim like a fishy!" and they smile back to me.
My point is that before they can have an opinion about themselves, they mimic yours. So give them a good base. Give them a positive base. Encourage them. Coax them. Make them be a bit uncomfortable at times. The end result is so worth it. My six year old rode a horse two week ends ago on a four mile trail all by herself. I cant express how delighted she was, full of SELF satisfaction. Where did she get the idea she could do it from, she got it from her mom and her dad. She got it from us.
Teach your kids to be polite, well mannered, WELL GROOMED FOR HEAVENS SAKE, thankful, to be adventurous, to just try things. To just experience things.
You only have them for such a short time before they are too set and too scared and too intimidated by everything. You only have today.
Im not saying my kids will be perfect. But what I love most about them, is that they try. They lock eyes with us for reassurance. We smile at them. And they take the plunge.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Calorie calamity?!
My beautiful eldest daughter has put on about 10lbs in the past year. She is 6. She always used to fit into a size smaller than her age, she always was scrawny and had her little chicken breast ribs sticking through her bathing suit... she could suck her diaphragm up into her sternum and look like a person from a concentration camp. So this new change is nothing wrong, its just something different.
Before you think I am a weight nazi I have to let you know more about my background. As a 12 year old I wore womens size 16 clothing or XL clothing. Most XL clothing if I am really honest, did not fit, but I would stretch it to make it fit. When I was a child, in the country that I grew up in, 14 was the maximum size on most things. You got 16's if you were exceedingly lucky. Add in braces, glasses, acne...and that I am almost 6 foot tall...musical, artsy, eclectic, eccentric... I am sure many of you now understand that I did not have the happiest time in school.
I read an article lately about something worse than bullying in school, because to be very honest I was never bullied (by children at least... my 7th grade teacher would be considered in my mind to be a bully but there were extenuating circumstances that I dont have the energy to mention right now)...but what this article said was worse than bullying was the child who was invisible. And that resonated with me to the core of my being. I was an invisible child.
That was a two part puzzle. Partly because I was just the klunky fat kid, the weirdo, but not weird enough to tease outright (and because I was bigger than most kids, I would have and could have whooped some butt)... partly because I felt so rejected that I recoiled into the fibers of my being and used to hide myself amongst layer upon layer of defense and camouflage. I became used to playing incognito.
And of course I would never mention it to my overly burdened and loving but innocent parents.... They loved me, more than I could possibly understand at that age, but I always felt worthless.
I was just speaking to my mom today, I am not a binge eater, or a person who binges and purges. I would just constantly be nibbling. When I was 13 I weighed more than my dad. Made me feel like a worthless bag of fat. So I just kept on munching my way through the void where I would have had a larger group of friends, or sports, or other activities where I had to leave the confines of my bedroom.
I sound like a total nerd, but honestly I have had a lovely fulfilled life. I used to read six books a week because my mom took me to the library only once a week, and I only was allowed six at one time... I went to piano lessons for 12 years...I had my nerdy friends (NERDS RULE)... I had a rip roaring early adult life (once I left high school and realised how little high school really means in the grand scheme of things)... and now at the age of 30 I feel satisfied and pleased with where I am and who I am. I like being me. Sounds cheesy but theres no one else I would rather be.
The brilliance of my fleeting mind... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0tn2WtgY5H4
Its just an incredible feeling looking at your baby who is no more, slowly transforming by genetic process into part of who you had been. You want to swoop them up and protect them. In the same place you dont want to impose on them who you were. They are not you. They are not yours. They are your stewards and you are their guardians... They are not you. Yet the resemblance is uncanny.
You want to protect their innocence. Guard them from hurt, pain, rejection and all of the prickly barbs. You want your darling baby angel to feel beautiful always. You want to wipe away the inadequacies. You want to be more aware than your parents were of rejection or shame. You want to be more in touch, in tune, in control... Yet also let them forge their own individuality and become their true selves.
So I have decided to back off on the weight issue. To make it a non issue.. an anti-issue.
My daughter is beautiful and perfect. And just like me, she will find her way. We have the most Perfect Guide. He is the key to wholeness.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Returning to Christ.
It struck me that I have confused all of you. And perhaps I have not fully explained my sudden re-attachment to the Christian walk. As someone who had not been to church in over 17 years, the fact that I went in September 2010 was astonishing to me as well. I am still reeling from the sudden return. I shall recall the events as clearly as I can remember. This is a personal account, not meant to offend anyone okay? :)
I have long deliberated in the two schools of thought that plague me. Do I tell people the edited version of who I am, or do I delve into details that may make them uncomfortable or to think less of me. My dad has always said bury the past. And I desperately have tried to stick to that. Just my natural inclination is to spill all of me in one flurried gush. I dont only wear my heart on my sleeve, I wear my life on my sleeve too.
I am a recovered (past tense) drug addict. I have been 100% clean (not even one relapse) for almost 7 1/2 years. And I get, you hear this always in the news, you watch Intervention, you become desensitized, you see people shooting up on tv whilst you shovel food into your mouth at dinner time with your kids. You say to your kid, hey Junior, dont do that, its baaaad...
But do you have any idea how long almost seven and a half years is in junkie time? And whilst I realize my story or my life is neither novel or a wonder of the modern world, the healing and deliverance I have experienced in my life, IS novel and wonderful to ME.
I went to a rehab in Johannesburg. It was a scientology based rehab program that I loved because it was NOT christian. Also they taught the antithesis of the 12 step program, which is once an addict NOT always an addict. I dont carry around some calendar, count days, say how hard this is, how much I pine for my old life... The program was a total rehabilitation progam. You think youre there for drugs or alcohol, wake up, youre there for a full on life intervention. And it was hard and chaotic, but it was brief and temporary, and it opened up the doorway to so many new horizons and avenues beyond which I had ever thought of, because I never saw a future for me.
After the program I was offered a job. What kind of lunatic offers a recently clean junkie a job looking after money? (Genesis 39 v 20-22)... And I of course took the job, I loved the freedom, I loved helping people, being with people who were so positive and powerful and wonderful and I was good at my job and reliable.. and I started dating Kurtis.
And I just started getting these nagging feelings that the only reason that I made it out alive was because of Gods Grace.... and I brushed that off as a stupid fleeting notion.... what an idealistic fairy tale romantic stupid idea was that? I got out alive because I chose to... right? I mean that was the humanistic answer to it right? And things were going well because I was making them go well. You had good things happen to you because you were a good person. Kinda like karma, you pulled it in right?
Then in January 05 I had my daughter Shannon and in March 05 we moved to Atlanta Georgia. Soon we were working and had our own apartment in Sandy Springs. We bought a new car with money that fell like manna from heaven. I was working for the other rehab here but I hated it. I just wanted to get far far away from Drug Addicts in general. I wanted to have another baby and go back to school.
But the nagging suspicion of divine guidance and deliverance never left me. In fact I was plagued by it. All through out my second pregnancy I could not get two words out of my head, "Gods Grace"... they nagged at me, clawed at me, bit into my calm until I was gushing out potential thoughts or reasonings to it to my husband whom of course, did not acknowledge or approve of my new found crazy phase...
Well I thought it was a phase... now almost 2.5 years later I am still shocking people with my 'church phase'... yet I have to say I feel that all I did was come home. Come home from my wild wanderings and wonderings... I feel like I tried to disprove everything that was shoveled into my gullet as a child, but instead all I did was confirm and solidify that I was taught the truth as a child... and that I want my children to be taught the truth as I know it.
There are of course lose ends and many instances I cant fully explain or fully answer, I have to use faith to bridge the crevasses between thoughts and understanding... Questions about sexuality, perceived morality, perceived values, perceived norms, all of those I have to still work out.
I didnt become a Christian because I wanted a high horse to lean down from, to judge other people. I became a Christian because of the God sized vacuum in my soul. Most of you who truly know me know that I am exceedingly accepting of differences because I fully acknowledge that I am so thoroughly flawed and inept. In my ineptitude I wholly see and adore many different forms of beauty and I truly am washed over with boundless waves of gratitude for the colourful palette that I call my Soul Sisters and my Brothers from Another Mother. I love you all.
I have long deliberated in the two schools of thought that plague me. Do I tell people the edited version of who I am, or do I delve into details that may make them uncomfortable or to think less of me. My dad has always said bury the past. And I desperately have tried to stick to that. Just my natural inclination is to spill all of me in one flurried gush. I dont only wear my heart on my sleeve, I wear my life on my sleeve too.
I am a recovered (past tense) drug addict. I have been 100% clean (not even one relapse) for almost 7 1/2 years. And I get, you hear this always in the news, you watch Intervention, you become desensitized, you see people shooting up on tv whilst you shovel food into your mouth at dinner time with your kids. You say to your kid, hey Junior, dont do that, its baaaad...
But do you have any idea how long almost seven and a half years is in junkie time? And whilst I realize my story or my life is neither novel or a wonder of the modern world, the healing and deliverance I have experienced in my life, IS novel and wonderful to ME.
I went to a rehab in Johannesburg. It was a scientology based rehab program that I loved because it was NOT christian. Also they taught the antithesis of the 12 step program, which is once an addict NOT always an addict. I dont carry around some calendar, count days, say how hard this is, how much I pine for my old life... The program was a total rehabilitation progam. You think youre there for drugs or alcohol, wake up, youre there for a full on life intervention. And it was hard and chaotic, but it was brief and temporary, and it opened up the doorway to so many new horizons and avenues beyond which I had ever thought of, because I never saw a future for me.
After the program I was offered a job. What kind of lunatic offers a recently clean junkie a job looking after money? (Genesis 39 v 20-22)... And I of course took the job, I loved the freedom, I loved helping people, being with people who were so positive and powerful and wonderful and I was good at my job and reliable.. and I started dating Kurtis.
And I just started getting these nagging feelings that the only reason that I made it out alive was because of Gods Grace.... and I brushed that off as a stupid fleeting notion.... what an idealistic fairy tale romantic stupid idea was that? I got out alive because I chose to... right? I mean that was the humanistic answer to it right? And things were going well because I was making them go well. You had good things happen to you because you were a good person. Kinda like karma, you pulled it in right?
Then in January 05 I had my daughter Shannon and in March 05 we moved to Atlanta Georgia. Soon we were working and had our own apartment in Sandy Springs. We bought a new car with money that fell like manna from heaven. I was working for the other rehab here but I hated it. I just wanted to get far far away from Drug Addicts in general. I wanted to have another baby and go back to school.
But the nagging suspicion of divine guidance and deliverance never left me. In fact I was plagued by it. All through out my second pregnancy I could not get two words out of my head, "Gods Grace"... they nagged at me, clawed at me, bit into my calm until I was gushing out potential thoughts or reasonings to it to my husband whom of course, did not acknowledge or approve of my new found crazy phase...
Well I thought it was a phase... now almost 2.5 years later I am still shocking people with my 'church phase'... yet I have to say I feel that all I did was come home. Come home from my wild wanderings and wonderings... I feel like I tried to disprove everything that was shoveled into my gullet as a child, but instead all I did was confirm and solidify that I was taught the truth as a child... and that I want my children to be taught the truth as I know it.
There are of course lose ends and many instances I cant fully explain or fully answer, I have to use faith to bridge the crevasses between thoughts and understanding... Questions about sexuality, perceived morality, perceived values, perceived norms, all of those I have to still work out.
I didnt become a Christian because I wanted a high horse to lean down from, to judge other people. I became a Christian because of the God sized vacuum in my soul. Most of you who truly know me know that I am exceedingly accepting of differences because I fully acknowledge that I am so thoroughly flawed and inept. In my ineptitude I wholly see and adore many different forms of beauty and I truly am washed over with boundless waves of gratitude for the colourful palette that I call my Soul Sisters and my Brothers from Another Mother. I love you all.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Fleeting mementos, definitive answers to who we are.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Perspective gained, disillusionment lost.
How bright and beautiful this meandering pathway of life is. In the morning where the blue sky touches the earth, the grass has exploded into tall blonde fronds, lengthy from the rains this summer. The trees are thinning out, their leaves turning red and orange, brown splashes of past life collecting on the ground in sparse piles. New found light sneaks through the thinning vegetation, illuminating shadows in a secret forest. And the cosmos.... The cosmos turn up their single eyed faces, and point their pink, purple and white crowns to the heavens.
One small aspect where life is complete and all that we are can be summed up by the beauty around us.
One small aspect where life is complete and all that we are can be summed up by the beauty around us.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
American etiquette?
I was at a childrens' birthday party today when I heard the most hysterical paradox (besides American cheese and oh... my favourite... American cuisine!)... I heard a woman advertising what she does for a living... and shes an Etiquette Coach.
Now THAT, in this place... unless you're not a part of the hoi palloi, is like trying to stop titanic sinking by using magic tape on the cracks in the bow.
There is something wonderful to be said of the Colonial British upbringing that would render such classes redundant.
We ate dinner every night at a table, on a china plate, with proper cutlery. We said please and thank you. No one would dare to burp at the table. And obnoxious chewing and spluttering was put to a lightning fast stop the second it began by glares from ones mother (or father) whilst they chewed their manna from heaven.
Even so, the people who chose not to eat with a knife and fork, like our African brothers and sisters, ate in a respectful reverence for the food that nourishes their body, all be it perhaps with a bit more lively talking. African people are known for speaking loudly. They mean no disrespect (to the slightly too British people who may be shocked) with the loud decibels encroaching on their ear drums.
Our young (both British, French, Dutch or African descent) addressed the elders with respect, or a severe clout around the ears was the agreed punishment. Talking back to ones elders was reserved for when one really wanted to make a point. And when it did, often the elder agreed with you once you raised your voice, because it was done so few and far between.
Yet we are in general well balanced, not overly timid or demure, not overly cocky as adults. I would say we are well rounded as adults. We have earned, as a generation, any respect or reward, from the fruits of our labour.
Schooling taught us the importance of a uniform, of tying a tie, of shining out shoes, of washing up well and being sparkly and presentable. We would line up in rows en masse for fingernail inspections, hair inspections, uniform inspections, and the scoundrels and scalliwags would be weeded from the group like a pack of mangy wolves, rounded up to do community service on the school property, to feel the depth of their transgressions. As a result, looking back at the photos, we were all BEAUTIFULLY dressed, even those of us who wore threadbare second hand uniforms that had been ironed and pressed to the wharf and the weft.
America on the other hand is full of the instant everything. It is the home of the polystyrene plate. Why grocery stores even sell polystyrene is beyond me given that one polystyrene plate takes in excess of 1 million years to decompose and a paper plate takes only two months... Yet most Americans have plates in their cupboard... theyre just to lazy to wash them... and that being said Americans use THE MOST water per capita than any other country.... So how all the water is used I dont know. Having baths? Or washing super sized SUV's?
We would use paper plates if we were at a picnic venue. Or as additional plates if we had invited more people over than we had plates. Our paper plates were often supported in a wicker basket. They could handle being over laden with home made potato salad and coleslaw and a T bone steak.
Coinciding with the paper plate is often the plastic fork. I know the plastic fork has its place in this world. I am not saying DONT EVER. But I am just saying WHEN it should be used versus when it could be used. Plastic forks come in one standard size... Plastic and flexible.
So its just interesting to tabulate the changes that I have systematically made in my almost 6 years on this great continent... and the little things that I insist on (I very rarely use disposable serve ware)... And the little things that I have made concessions on.
I still like to wrap my presents in paper by hand. I think its more personal than the 'gift bag'... and we always send out cards. I don't shy away from making my children thank the hosts of parties, and threaten them with the cancellation of any further invitations if my request is met with non compliance.
But mostly, like my husband said, in these colloquial present times, unless you have horrific parents, is etiquette really relevant? Or have I just become totally boorish and cannot see the error of my ways?
Now THAT, in this place... unless you're not a part of the hoi palloi, is like trying to stop titanic sinking by using magic tape on the cracks in the bow.
There is something wonderful to be said of the Colonial British upbringing that would render such classes redundant.
We ate dinner every night at a table, on a china plate, with proper cutlery. We said please and thank you. No one would dare to burp at the table. And obnoxious chewing and spluttering was put to a lightning fast stop the second it began by glares from ones mother (or father) whilst they chewed their manna from heaven.
Even so, the people who chose not to eat with a knife and fork, like our African brothers and sisters, ate in a respectful reverence for the food that nourishes their body, all be it perhaps with a bit more lively talking. African people are known for speaking loudly. They mean no disrespect (to the slightly too British people who may be shocked) with the loud decibels encroaching on their ear drums.
Our young (both British, French, Dutch or African descent) addressed the elders with respect, or a severe clout around the ears was the agreed punishment. Talking back to ones elders was reserved for when one really wanted to make a point. And when it did, often the elder agreed with you once you raised your voice, because it was done so few and far between.
Yet we are in general well balanced, not overly timid or demure, not overly cocky as adults. I would say we are well rounded as adults. We have earned, as a generation, any respect or reward, from the fruits of our labour.
Schooling taught us the importance of a uniform, of tying a tie, of shining out shoes, of washing up well and being sparkly and presentable. We would line up in rows en masse for fingernail inspections, hair inspections, uniform inspections, and the scoundrels and scalliwags would be weeded from the group like a pack of mangy wolves, rounded up to do community service on the school property, to feel the depth of their transgressions. As a result, looking back at the photos, we were all BEAUTIFULLY dressed, even those of us who wore threadbare second hand uniforms that had been ironed and pressed to the wharf and the weft.
America on the other hand is full of the instant everything. It is the home of the polystyrene plate. Why grocery stores even sell polystyrene is beyond me given that one polystyrene plate takes in excess of 1 million years to decompose and a paper plate takes only two months... Yet most Americans have plates in their cupboard... theyre just to lazy to wash them... and that being said Americans use THE MOST water per capita than any other country.... So how all the water is used I dont know. Having baths? Or washing super sized SUV's?
We would use paper plates if we were at a picnic venue. Or as additional plates if we had invited more people over than we had plates. Our paper plates were often supported in a wicker basket. They could handle being over laden with home made potato salad and coleslaw and a T bone steak.
Coinciding with the paper plate is often the plastic fork. I know the plastic fork has its place in this world. I am not saying DONT EVER. But I am just saying WHEN it should be used versus when it could be used. Plastic forks come in one standard size... Plastic and flexible.
So its just interesting to tabulate the changes that I have systematically made in my almost 6 years on this great continent... and the little things that I insist on (I very rarely use disposable serve ware)... And the little things that I have made concessions on.
I still like to wrap my presents in paper by hand. I think its more personal than the 'gift bag'... and we always send out cards. I don't shy away from making my children thank the hosts of parties, and threaten them with the cancellation of any further invitations if my request is met with non compliance.
But mostly, like my husband said, in these colloquial present times, unless you have horrific parents, is etiquette really relevant? Or have I just become totally boorish and cannot see the error of my ways?
Friday, August 20, 2010
Christmas in August...
I am a bit of a nut. Okay more than a bit of a nut. I am like a whole package of assorted nuts. Each bite of me would be different. Sometimes sweet, sometimes tart, and sometimes salted.
There is one thing that I realized, just within the mad scramble, especially in this economy, that you do NOT have to pay full price for anything. I mean in the beginning (two suitcases and a 6 week old baby off an international flight, arriving into an empty apartment that didnt even have a light in the bedroom) we had no choice, we had to buy what we needed when we saw it, and when we could afford it cash.
Now that we are established in our little cocoon, the girls each have a bed room, the husband has his tv room, I have my kitchen and laundry areas (also known as the slavery portal and entrapment area), and we have clothes and shoes on our feet. So everything else is a luxury.
Of course there are things that we want (the human part of us can never be denied)... and then comes in the mommies wacky crazy nutty personality and the purchasing guilt (always feel guilty when I buy anything)... plus an amazing outlet mall and Amazon.com.... and I would like to tell you that being cheap never felt so good!
We have always had tiny budget for xmas. Our first year here we didnt have an xmas budget. It just wasnt a possibility. Then it was like $100. Then $200. Then this year its $300. And we have 10 people to buy for! Two children and eight adults. And I must say I am VERY CLOSE on target.
I take great pleasure and buying things like gorgeous plaid shirts for the husband from Macys for $5.97. Please do not let him know or he will never wear them! Its all about timing. Its about that incredible deal that you just can not pass up. My kids wear Osh Kosh and new clothing off the shelves. It just depends which shelf. The babies party dress for next year cost $2.40. So I dunno... but I think this is my new hobby :)
How nutty am I ?
There is one thing that I realized, just within the mad scramble, especially in this economy, that you do NOT have to pay full price for anything. I mean in the beginning (two suitcases and a 6 week old baby off an international flight, arriving into an empty apartment that didnt even have a light in the bedroom) we had no choice, we had to buy what we needed when we saw it, and when we could afford it cash.
Now that we are established in our little cocoon, the girls each have a bed room, the husband has his tv room, I have my kitchen and laundry areas (also known as the slavery portal and entrapment area), and we have clothes and shoes on our feet. So everything else is a luxury.
Of course there are things that we want (the human part of us can never be denied)... and then comes in the mommies wacky crazy nutty personality and the purchasing guilt (always feel guilty when I buy anything)... plus an amazing outlet mall and Amazon.com.... and I would like to tell you that being cheap never felt so good!
We have always had tiny budget for xmas. Our first year here we didnt have an xmas budget. It just wasnt a possibility. Then it was like $100. Then $200. Then this year its $300. And we have 10 people to buy for! Two children and eight adults. And I must say I am VERY CLOSE on target.
I take great pleasure and buying things like gorgeous plaid shirts for the husband from Macys for $5.97. Please do not let him know or he will never wear them! Its all about timing. Its about that incredible deal that you just can not pass up. My kids wear Osh Kosh and new clothing off the shelves. It just depends which shelf. The babies party dress for next year cost $2.40. So I dunno... but I think this is my new hobby :)
How nutty am I ?
Ducklings in open water
My eldest left the safety of the nest, and happily paddled across the parking lot to her new proxy mother (Kindergarten Teacher) and her proxy siblings. She bit all of her nails down to the quick in the days preceding her departure. I wanted to say 'Dont do that, its ugly', but I didnt want her to feel ugly. I wanted to say "Stop it, its naughty disgusting behaviour", but I didnt want her to think she was naughty or disgusting. So instead I showed her how my grandfather Graham Ebden Long used to rest his fingers upon each other, and twiddle his thumbs. She now does this in the car, as we round the long slow loop of the car drop off lane. She smiles at me, pony tails bobbing, and I have never seen anything so beautiful. I love her anxiety and her excitement. I love how her whole world is new. I love her endless possibilities and her openness. But what I love most is knowing that at 1h45pm I will leave work to go and collect her and her sister and my arms will again be full.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Quicker than you will ever be prepared for...
So my eldest daughter, five years and seven months full of life, size 10T or 11T shoes, little wiggly piggies, sparkly blue eyes, light like mine, the colour of the seven seas, and crystal white shores, not as dark as lapis or sapphire as her sisters, but light like the tranquil waters of the med... has outgrown her baby book!
I found myself today just stupefied. I have new pens that dont go through the pages and that dry the second you write, perfect for harried memorized fleeting treasures and quick pen and parchment capturing.
I turned to the next page only to find there were none.
I turned to look for the next mile stone only to find I had already recorded it.
Yet I read the book like a stranger.
All the wonderment is like that of a voyeur.
The memories escape me like the sweetness of this breath exhaled to the next.
You can try so hard to hold on. I have photographic chains onto every day with my kids. I have them on my hard drive. Backed up to Carbonite. Backed up to the Walmart photostudio. Backed up on printed copies of all my luscious memories that evaporate like smoke through my fingers.
Our feelings change. Our memories are altered and swayed. We believe what we WANT to remember. The memories are enhanced by how we think they should be. Its so gratifying to speak to a sibling or a parent and to find out your memories are almost the same. It seems to give them more credence. I dont necessarily trust my nostalgic recollections. I romanticise everything, remove the harsh light, trade it in for rose coloured glasses, rose coloured petals falling from heaven, everything seemed so easy and peaceful by contrast to today, today was more gruelling, today I cried harder, today was not as satisfying as yesterday, always trying to gain the elusive plateau of satisfaction that actually never existed, we just believed it to be, so therefore it was and is, indelible in the photo album of the mind....
My daughter has long legs like a gazelle. When she grows up she wants to be a mermaid. But she already knows they dont exist. And she has plan B ready and waiting. She can be a mermaid for halloween instead or she can be an actor and pretend to be a mermaid in a mermaid costume.
I bought her her first pair of shoes today with a little one inch heel. They rest at the foot of her bed, whilst my daughter, the girl, dreams of her new school.
I found myself today just stupefied. I have new pens that dont go through the pages and that dry the second you write, perfect for harried memorized fleeting treasures and quick pen and parchment capturing.
I turned to the next page only to find there were none.
I turned to look for the next mile stone only to find I had already recorded it.
Yet I read the book like a stranger.
All the wonderment is like that of a voyeur.
The memories escape me like the sweetness of this breath exhaled to the next.
You can try so hard to hold on. I have photographic chains onto every day with my kids. I have them on my hard drive. Backed up to Carbonite. Backed up to the Walmart photostudio. Backed up on printed copies of all my luscious memories that evaporate like smoke through my fingers.
Our feelings change. Our memories are altered and swayed. We believe what we WANT to remember. The memories are enhanced by how we think they should be. Its so gratifying to speak to a sibling or a parent and to find out your memories are almost the same. It seems to give them more credence. I dont necessarily trust my nostalgic recollections. I romanticise everything, remove the harsh light, trade it in for rose coloured glasses, rose coloured petals falling from heaven, everything seemed so easy and peaceful by contrast to today, today was more gruelling, today I cried harder, today was not as satisfying as yesterday, always trying to gain the elusive plateau of satisfaction that actually never existed, we just believed it to be, so therefore it was and is, indelible in the photo album of the mind....
My daughter has long legs like a gazelle. When she grows up she wants to be a mermaid. But she already knows they dont exist. And she has plan B ready and waiting. She can be a mermaid for halloween instead or she can be an actor and pretend to be a mermaid in a mermaid costume.
I bought her her first pair of shoes today with a little one inch heel. They rest at the foot of her bed, whilst my daughter, the girl, dreams of her new school.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
If I wanted your opinion...
The smarter people become, also the more socially retarded they are. In an attempt to be right they alienate their friends, and set up concrete barriers across their hearts and corridors between understandings. When really what will happen in life is quite simple. Here are a couple truths that I can promise you right now.
1) Your friends will dump you for a boyfriend or girlfriend (and you should be okay with this because most people also get significant others too)
2) Girl meets boy plays house and then has babies.
3) Girl may meet boy on one night stand, have baby, then try to play house.
4) Work is never going to be as much fun as vacation but it pays the bills so shut up and get on with it.
5) The career versus job is just a clever marketing ploy created by institutions wanting you to take out student loans that you cant afford, that even with the aforementioned training, you couldnt possibly afford because face it, life is not fair. Theyre just selling you hope. You have to know when to give up or alter a dream.
6) Gay men are the perfect men. You just cant marry one if youre female.
7) Everybodies going to have an opinion about what you do. So just appease your biggest critic, ie YOU, and do what YOU want.
I would write some more but its 8h30 am and we are going to the pool. Monkies have WAY too much energy.
To Be Continued....
1) Your friends will dump you for a boyfriend or girlfriend (and you should be okay with this because most people also get significant others too)
2) Girl meets boy plays house and then has babies.
3) Girl may meet boy on one night stand, have baby, then try to play house.
4) Work is never going to be as much fun as vacation but it pays the bills so shut up and get on with it.
5) The career versus job is just a clever marketing ploy created by institutions wanting you to take out student loans that you cant afford, that even with the aforementioned training, you couldnt possibly afford because face it, life is not fair. Theyre just selling you hope. You have to know when to give up or alter a dream.
6) Gay men are the perfect men. You just cant marry one if youre female.
7) Everybodies going to have an opinion about what you do. So just appease your biggest critic, ie YOU, and do what YOU want.
I would write some more but its 8h30 am and we are going to the pool. Monkies have WAY too much energy.
To Be Continued....
Thursday, July 15, 2010
The bane of my existence...
Once a day I am overcome with anxiety. It strikes me first thing in the morning as I am preparing breakfast and leaving for work. What to cook for dinner?! I mean what I would like to do, is just eat out every night. There is a fabulous Japanese restaurant in town (Kani House) and I could eat their sushi rolls until the cows came home. Similarly the only time I see my husband eating vegetables is when the teppanyaki chef prepares them on the hibatchi and does his little bit of magic, the "wolcano" choo chooing across the shiny sheet of metal before it is attacked and finely diced into perfect chunks of onion to accompany baby marrows (zucchini squash), fronds of carrots, mini broccoli trees etc, to be the perfect al dente accompaniment to the tender steak, chicken and shrimp.... drool drool...
But that is where realism and our budget (which is always pushed to the limit as it is) comes in and knocks me back down to earth. There also are a couple logistical issues. Firstly I have a job, a heavy commute (2 hours plus per day), I drive my kids to school (they don't ride the bus), the baby (who is surgically attached to my leg), and my 5 year old who wants to be outdoors all of the time. Enter stage right, the daddio who absolutely hates my "plain and boring" South African style of cooking (meaning too many vegetables and not enough sauces). Plus my struggles with my weight and what I know I should be eating to control my weight, trying to teach kids healthy eating habits, the cost of organic and hormone free foods, and yep youre ready to gve up even BEFORE dinner is prepared, let alone cooked and served.
Some history on the way I was fed as a child. My first memories of food were mashed bananas that my mom used to make for my sister and I. They were a solid staple in our household. Similarly the food I feed my children most (to fill in the gaps between meals) have been bananas. Up close would be fruit yoghurt, and eggs on toast. Lunch would be a simple sandwich made on bread that got stale in 24-48 hours, pieces of roast chicken from the dinner the night before, mayonnaise made with clean oils and egg yolks. And dinner would be a smallish piece of meat with three different coloured vegetables and a greek salad. We would always have cookies or cakes in the house that my mother had made from scratch from her old Housewives League cookbook. If we had canned foods in the house it was for dog food, cat food, pilchards, baked beans (sans the bacon and sugar) and tomato puree.
Everything else was made fresh. We used to go to Rebel Farmers and choose a huge trolley full of fresh veggies, which they packed into an old box, and our car would smell like the tops of carrots and a bit of dirt in the sun on the way home. I used to HATE going to the green grocer. It was so boring. But when we got home I was able to eat giant fleshy mangoes that poured their sweet sap down my chin and arms, running down to my elbows. My mother was always slicing a giant pineapple and methodically cutting it into bite sized chunks.
The meat came from either a butcher or Woolworths depending on how busy my mother was or what she felt like. We had a home cooked meal every night thanks to her or the maid, even though my mother worked 12 hour shifts at the hospital. I had a lunch hand made and cut into triangles, very often with the crusts cut off, wrapped in wax paper and put into my lunch box every single day for the 12 years of my schooling, even though my mother was tired and often was going on 5 hours of sleep and I had piano lessons and my sister had netball on the other side of town....
I think McDonalds came to South Africa after sanctions ended post apartheid in 1995. I remember driving past the chock-a-block parking lot on Beyers Naude not quite understanding what all the fuss was about. The only take aways chain we really had prior to McDonalds was KFC. Another type of take away you could get (without a drive through) was Nandos Peri Peri chicken http://www.nandos.com/index1.html which really didnt count as a take away because the food is SSSOOO VERY GOOD...
At lunch time, the working class either bought their lunch to work, or if you worked in an office building, there would be many little cafe's or coffee shops with salads, tramezzinis, toasted sandwiches, eggs, soup, tea, coffee etc at your finger tips. Real places with waiters who brought the food to your table (imagine that) with doilies on the saucers under the coffee cups (a saucer is a small plate you put under a coffee cup to rest your spoon and biscotti on... lol)... and milk served in little silver metal or white porcelain jugs... real milk... that came from a cow, that has an expiration date, no palm oils, or hydrogenated dehydrated this or that or some other nonsense you can not even pronounce!
There were fat people, there were thin people, just like anywhere. The only thing I can really think is that the food we ate was so flavourful that we did not need to add all the sauces and condiments that you have here in the USA. A plain white baguette with a piece of cheddar cheese has a wonderful rich flavour. The bread crunches and flakes down your shirt when you bite into it, and you are rewarded of the soft fluffiness. So I am not saying it was overtly 'better' but just in my rememberance and my nostalgia, everything is rose coloured glasses perfect.
In my first couple of months here in the states, I was sick often with stomach bugs. We just attributed it to a whole new plethora of germs and viruses that I had no defense against. I also had this very strange painful stomach issue that would come and go frequently. The Americans told me I had 'gas'. They had an over the counter remedy for it, simethicone, which everyone pretty much knows about and they even give it to babies to help them with 'gas'. My mother and I laugh and say "We've got gasssss" in our funniest American accents whenever we hear the word 'gas'. It is a generic term for tight furious angry pains in your intestines. I also often had nausea and vomiting. I remember I was not able to see the Lipizzaners who came to Atlanta in 05 because I was so sick. Sick from what? I think sick from the food.
People who have heart issues have to be very careful where they buy their meat from because the meat here is all preserved with a sodium solution. So you can be eating poached chicken and broccoli and keel over because the sodium content already within your food is lethal.
But what can you do? I tried to avoid it, and rage against it. I shopped at Trader Joes, bought organic, then looked at my grocery bill appalled and realised something had to change. So I started shopping at Walmart, the American way, and my bill went down, but my dissatisfaction grew...You can get your dry goods at Walmart, but then for meat you have to go to Ingles or Publix or Kroger... And even then if youre going for hormone free, antibiotic free, free range, organic meats and produce, youre paying an arm and a leg.
The meat here does not taste like the South African meat. Even a cheap piece of meat from Pick N Pay. Stick it in the frying pan with salt and pepper. Boil some baby potatoes and make a side salad. Voila, you have a fabulous tasty meal. It just does not cook the same. The meat has this grey scum that collects on the surface. It has extra moisture from the solutions that preserve it. The texture is different, often more tough, and God only knows what the animals were fed.
So I am really not on a mission to rage against the agricultural system in the USA. I can understand what they are trying to do. I understand the vastness of the spaces and territories they have to cover. I understand the cost of transport. I understand we are in a recession. But just for my family and I, I am seeking alternatives.
I do not like to garden, just dont have the time, and I dont enjoy back breaking work (might break a nail). So I have found this supplier in the Dahlonega, Cleveland, Gainesville GA area called Organics2U http://organics2u.net/food.html. Just hoping to get some moms on board with me, so they will start delivering to our area :) Got to give it a try. Has to be better than what we have going on right now.
If youre interested this is from their most recent email :
But that is where realism and our budget (which is always pushed to the limit as it is) comes in and knocks me back down to earth. There also are a couple logistical issues. Firstly I have a job, a heavy commute (2 hours plus per day), I drive my kids to school (they don't ride the bus), the baby (who is surgically attached to my leg), and my 5 year old who wants to be outdoors all of the time. Enter stage right, the daddio who absolutely hates my "plain and boring" South African style of cooking (meaning too many vegetables and not enough sauces). Plus my struggles with my weight and what I know I should be eating to control my weight, trying to teach kids healthy eating habits, the cost of organic and hormone free foods, and yep youre ready to gve up even BEFORE dinner is prepared, let alone cooked and served.
Some history on the way I was fed as a child. My first memories of food were mashed bananas that my mom used to make for my sister and I. They were a solid staple in our household. Similarly the food I feed my children most (to fill in the gaps between meals) have been bananas. Up close would be fruit yoghurt, and eggs on toast. Lunch would be a simple sandwich made on bread that got stale in 24-48 hours, pieces of roast chicken from the dinner the night before, mayonnaise made with clean oils and egg yolks. And dinner would be a smallish piece of meat with three different coloured vegetables and a greek salad. We would always have cookies or cakes in the house that my mother had made from scratch from her old Housewives League cookbook. If we had canned foods in the house it was for dog food, cat food, pilchards, baked beans (sans the bacon and sugar) and tomato puree.
Everything else was made fresh. We used to go to Rebel Farmers and choose a huge trolley full of fresh veggies, which they packed into an old box, and our car would smell like the tops of carrots and a bit of dirt in the sun on the way home. I used to HATE going to the green grocer. It was so boring. But when we got home I was able to eat giant fleshy mangoes that poured their sweet sap down my chin and arms, running down to my elbows. My mother was always slicing a giant pineapple and methodically cutting it into bite sized chunks.
The meat came from either a butcher or Woolworths depending on how busy my mother was or what she felt like. We had a home cooked meal every night thanks to her or the maid, even though my mother worked 12 hour shifts at the hospital. I had a lunch hand made and cut into triangles, very often with the crusts cut off, wrapped in wax paper and put into my lunch box every single day for the 12 years of my schooling, even though my mother was tired and often was going on 5 hours of sleep and I had piano lessons and my sister had netball on the other side of town....
I think McDonalds came to South Africa after sanctions ended post apartheid in 1995. I remember driving past the chock-a-block parking lot on Beyers Naude not quite understanding what all the fuss was about. The only take aways chain we really had prior to McDonalds was KFC. Another type of take away you could get (without a drive through) was Nandos Peri Peri chicken http://www.nandos.com/index1.html which really didnt count as a take away because the food is SSSOOO VERY GOOD...
At lunch time, the working class either bought their lunch to work, or if you worked in an office building, there would be many little cafe's or coffee shops with salads, tramezzinis, toasted sandwiches, eggs, soup, tea, coffee etc at your finger tips. Real places with waiters who brought the food to your table (imagine that) with doilies on the saucers under the coffee cups (a saucer is a small plate you put under a coffee cup to rest your spoon and biscotti on... lol)... and milk served in little silver metal or white porcelain jugs... real milk... that came from a cow, that has an expiration date, no palm oils, or hydrogenated dehydrated this or that or some other nonsense you can not even pronounce!
There were fat people, there were thin people, just like anywhere. The only thing I can really think is that the food we ate was so flavourful that we did not need to add all the sauces and condiments that you have here in the USA. A plain white baguette with a piece of cheddar cheese has a wonderful rich flavour. The bread crunches and flakes down your shirt when you bite into it, and you are rewarded of the soft fluffiness. So I am not saying it was overtly 'better' but just in my rememberance and my nostalgia, everything is rose coloured glasses perfect.
In my first couple of months here in the states, I was sick often with stomach bugs. We just attributed it to a whole new plethora of germs and viruses that I had no defense against. I also had this very strange painful stomach issue that would come and go frequently. The Americans told me I had 'gas'. They had an over the counter remedy for it, simethicone, which everyone pretty much knows about and they even give it to babies to help them with 'gas'. My mother and I laugh and say "We've got gasssss" in our funniest American accents whenever we hear the word 'gas'. It is a generic term for tight furious angry pains in your intestines. I also often had nausea and vomiting. I remember I was not able to see the Lipizzaners who came to Atlanta in 05 because I was so sick. Sick from what? I think sick from the food.
People who have heart issues have to be very careful where they buy their meat from because the meat here is all preserved with a sodium solution. So you can be eating poached chicken and broccoli and keel over because the sodium content already within your food is lethal.
But what can you do? I tried to avoid it, and rage against it. I shopped at Trader Joes, bought organic, then looked at my grocery bill appalled and realised something had to change. So I started shopping at Walmart, the American way, and my bill went down, but my dissatisfaction grew...You can get your dry goods at Walmart, but then for meat you have to go to Ingles or Publix or Kroger... And even then if youre going for hormone free, antibiotic free, free range, organic meats and produce, youre paying an arm and a leg.
The meat here does not taste like the South African meat. Even a cheap piece of meat from Pick N Pay. Stick it in the frying pan with salt and pepper. Boil some baby potatoes and make a side salad. Voila, you have a fabulous tasty meal. It just does not cook the same. The meat has this grey scum that collects on the surface. It has extra moisture from the solutions that preserve it. The texture is different, often more tough, and God only knows what the animals were fed.
So I am really not on a mission to rage against the agricultural system in the USA. I can understand what they are trying to do. I understand the vastness of the spaces and territories they have to cover. I understand the cost of transport. I understand we are in a recession. But just for my family and I, I am seeking alternatives.
I do not like to garden, just dont have the time, and I dont enjoy back breaking work (might break a nail). So I have found this supplier in the Dahlonega, Cleveland, Gainesville GA area called Organics2U http://organics2u.net/food.html. Just hoping to get some moms on board with me, so they will start delivering to our area :) Got to give it a try. Has to be better than what we have going on right now.
If youre interested this is from their most recent email :
Hello from Organics2u,
We appreciate your questions about recycling; YES, we are delighted to re-use boxes, so please bring them when you pick up. To cut down on waste further, we are happy to repack your order into any re-usable bags you bring. We also offer re-usable salad/ spinach bags. These are washable and come fabric covered and reduce plastic waste from food bags.
We also welcome the return of the mason jars used for yogurt etc. These are easily sterilized and re-used.
We offer substantial discounts on cases and half cases of produce. Please let us know if you need anything in bulk.
Pick up is from 596 Gold Ridge Road, Dahlonega on Fridays between 1pm and 7pm. Delivery is available for $10 per address. We have regular drop venues in Dahlonega and Gainesville before 1pm on Fridays. Please enquire for more information.
PRODUCE BOX ORDERS NEED TO BE IN BY TUESDAY NIGHT, MEAT ORDERS BY THURSDAY NIGHT. If you are late we will do our very best to fill your order but there may an occasional substitution.
$30 Organic Produce Box
Carrots with top
Celery
Garlic
Cilantro bunched
Lettuce
Baby Spinach 1/2 lb
Roma Tomato 1/2 lb
2 Avocados
2 Yellow Peaches
2 Packham Pears
2 Pluots (a cross between a plum and an apricot)
2lb Bananas
2 Pink Lady Apples
$30 Fruit/ Smoothie box
4 Yellow Peaches
4 Packham Pears
4 Pluots
4lb Bananas
2 Avocados
1/2 lb Baby Spinach
Raspberries 12oz
Organic Free Range Eggs- $4.50 per dozen
Artisan 80% Wheat, 20% White Bread $4.24 a loaf
Natural Yogurt $4 a quart
Natural Meat. All chemical, pesticide, hormone and anti-biotic free. Raised humanely and with respect.
Grass Fed Beef
Ground Beef $5/lb
Stew Meat $7/lb
Shoulder Roast$7/lb
Chuck Roast $8/lb
Cube Steak (from round) $8/lb
Sirloin Steak $8/lb
Rib Eye $12/ lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
NY Strip $14/lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
Filet $18/lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
Stew Meat $7/lb
Shoulder Roast$7/lb
Chuck Roast $8/lb
Cube Steak (from round) $8/lb
Sirloin Steak $8/lb
Rib Eye $12/ lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
NY Strip $14/lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
Filet $18/lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
London Broil $8/lb
Beef Liver $8/lb
Beef Tongue- enquire for pricing
Free-Range Natural Pork
Pork Chops, $8/lb (4 per pack)
Fresh Ham Center Slices $8/lb (Uncured)
Fresh Ham Shank Roast $6/lb
Fresh Ham Butt Roast $6/lb
Boston Butt $7/lb
Spareribs $6/lb PRE ORDER
Sausage, Mild $6/lb
Sausage, Hot $6/lb
Fat Back $5/lb
Leaf Lard $5/lb
Liver $5/lb
Kidneys $5/lb
Pig's Head or Feet $2/lb
(Prices and availability of meats subject to change)
Thank You,
Alex
404 293 3354
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
All been said and done before...
I had a wonderful name for a blog. The spectacular vernacular. But just like every thing we feel or 'deal with' on a daily basis, every iota has already been felt and dealt with by some other person or people in another space and time. So the blog name was taken. (Pout)...
So if everything we have ever felt before is just a mirror of someone elses feelings, a repeat in a repetitive conscious, a duplicate and never an original, then why are we so convinced (even us people who claim to be open minded) that our struggles have value and that our days are important. And more pressing, if every thing has been already done before, then where is the handbook to guide us. Where are the diagrams, the flow charts, the graphs, the analysis of the risks versus the analysis of the outcome, a typed ledger eliminating potential, detailing what move to make and when, ensuring we hit the jack-pot?
Where do the scales of justice come in. Who doles out poverty and famine versus wealth, infamy, abundance, clean water, housing, warmth and food?
I have an aunt who has a serious illness. And it plagues me. It intrigues me how she deals with it in her very calm, methodical, logical and rational mind. I want to know how she has masticated on its implications and stowed away the ramifications in the safety of her very private mind. She has been told, I assume, by medical professionals that at certain stages X will occur and then later on Y will occur and then you can expect Z (and so on and so forth). So I am sure she has played out (as I have played out the scenario in my head) where this illness could possibly take her. But then it struck me. We all have been diagnosed with a fatal condition. And our fatal condition is called Life. It is the surprise you could never plan for. And all the regrets and guilt you could ever imagine, compounded.
So what is worse? Perhaps knowing how its going to end, or the not knowing? The best we can all hope for is that our children and significant others will know that we love them. And that our lives were good and meaningful. Beyond that I have no more words. But I am always on the search for more.
How do you live when youre stuck hoping for the best but planning for the worst, never wanting to be caught off guard. At what point do you just let things be?
So if everything we have ever felt before is just a mirror of someone elses feelings, a repeat in a repetitive conscious, a duplicate and never an original, then why are we so convinced (even us people who claim to be open minded) that our struggles have value and that our days are important. And more pressing, if every thing has been already done before, then where is the handbook to guide us. Where are the diagrams, the flow charts, the graphs, the analysis of the risks versus the analysis of the outcome, a typed ledger eliminating potential, detailing what move to make and when, ensuring we hit the jack-pot?
Where do the scales of justice come in. Who doles out poverty and famine versus wealth, infamy, abundance, clean water, housing, warmth and food?
I have an aunt who has a serious illness. And it plagues me. It intrigues me how she deals with it in her very calm, methodical, logical and rational mind. I want to know how she has masticated on its implications and stowed away the ramifications in the safety of her very private mind. She has been told, I assume, by medical professionals that at certain stages X will occur and then later on Y will occur and then you can expect Z (and so on and so forth). So I am sure she has played out (as I have played out the scenario in my head) where this illness could possibly take her. But then it struck me. We all have been diagnosed with a fatal condition. And our fatal condition is called Life. It is the surprise you could never plan for. And all the regrets and guilt you could ever imagine, compounded.
So what is worse? Perhaps knowing how its going to end, or the not knowing? The best we can all hope for is that our children and significant others will know that we love them. And that our lives were good and meaningful. Beyond that I have no more words. But I am always on the search for more.
How do you live when youre stuck hoping for the best but planning for the worst, never wanting to be caught off guard. At what point do you just let things be?
What prompted the blog...
I have another blog that was supposed to be my thoughts and ramblings... thing is I have realised, I do not have a consciousness separate from that of my kids and family... so it just became stuck, I kind of momento.
I am writing this one in response to this article that Bronwen posted on fb.
http://nymag.com/news/features/67024/ "Why Parents Hate Parenting".... and its not that I hate parenting... its just that sometimes the going gets a bit rough :)
What do you think about the article?
I am writing this one in response to this article that Bronwen posted on fb.
http://nymag.com/news/features/67024/ "Why Parents Hate Parenting".... and its not that I hate parenting... its just that sometimes the going gets a bit rough :)
What do you think about the article?
The words of the little..
Everything I do is recorded on indelible film in their minds. Every time I lose my cool and react in a less than stellar way they have filed it away in their little pocket of MommyMeltdowns to recall at a later date. Like when we are at lunch. And my five year old asks "what does F*$% mean daddy?".
Luckily my husband is as guilty as I am in that department, and we just hose ourselves, spraying iced tea and diet coke across the table, locking eyes as we try to come up with the most appropriate answer for our precocious yet darling 5 year old....
We finally settled on one that bears signific resonance in her 5 year old perfectly pristine mind and reasoning, and that is "its a naughty word that mom and daddy says sometimes when theyre mad but if you say it at school or in front of your friends you will get into trouble, so don't say it okay sweetie?".She nodded, a cherubim angel, locks as golden as the sun and it dissolved into the air around us. The wrinkles around my husbands eyes from laughing were the only remnants of our little giggle.
Issue was dropped for the meantime until many moons later when it made an abrupt appearance once again in her vocabulary. I was driving my mothers car, we parked it at the bottom of the hill, the autumn leaves swirled at our feet, the sky was grey and ominous. And there was this dastardly clammouring and banging coming from up on the hill next to our house. As we shut the cars doors, and my mother and I gathered up our purchases, there was this little voice that spoke out loud and clear above the infernal banging. The then 4 year old little cherub resonated a Cheshire cat grin when she impishly said "Whats all that f*$%ing noise?". We dropped our bags and looked at her quizzically. And then we turned to each other to confer, did she just say what we thought we heard? And I said "What did you say Shannon?" and she said Whats all that noise mommy?" like butter wouldnt melt in her mouth... and I said "no no no I heard you say something else?" and she giggled and her bitten fingernails and pink sausage fingers went up to her mouth as if she were trying to stuff the laughter that was coming out, back in. And we all then threw our heads back in laughter and just giggled as we walked up the hill. I reiterated that what she said was hysterical (I mean lie and say it was not?) but if she said it at the inappropriate time that she could get punished. She said she got the message. And thus far I think she has. There have been no more F Bombs dropping out of her mouth. But as for me, well I would by lying if I said my lexicon was purely chaste.
Luckily my husband is as guilty as I am in that department, and we just hose ourselves, spraying iced tea and diet coke across the table, locking eyes as we try to come up with the most appropriate answer for our precocious yet darling 5 year old....
We finally settled on one that bears signific resonance in her 5 year old perfectly pristine mind and reasoning, and that is "its a naughty word that mom and daddy says sometimes when theyre mad but if you say it at school or in front of your friends you will get into trouble, so don't say it okay sweetie?".She nodded, a cherubim angel, locks as golden as the sun and it dissolved into the air around us. The wrinkles around my husbands eyes from laughing were the only remnants of our little giggle.
Issue was dropped for the meantime until many moons later when it made an abrupt appearance once again in her vocabulary. I was driving my mothers car, we parked it at the bottom of the hill, the autumn leaves swirled at our feet, the sky was grey and ominous. And there was this dastardly clammouring and banging coming from up on the hill next to our house. As we shut the cars doors, and my mother and I gathered up our purchases, there was this little voice that spoke out loud and clear above the infernal banging. The then 4 year old little cherub resonated a Cheshire cat grin when she impishly said "Whats all that f*$%ing noise?". We dropped our bags and looked at her quizzically. And then we turned to each other to confer, did she just say what we thought we heard? And I said "What did you say Shannon?" and she said Whats all that noise mommy?" like butter wouldnt melt in her mouth... and I said "no no no I heard you say something else?" and she giggled and her bitten fingernails and pink sausage fingers went up to her mouth as if she were trying to stuff the laughter that was coming out, back in. And we all then threw our heads back in laughter and just giggled as we walked up the hill. I reiterated that what she said was hysterical (I mean lie and say it was not?) but if she said it at the inappropriate time that she could get punished. She said she got the message. And thus far I think she has. There have been no more F Bombs dropping out of her mouth. But as for me, well I would by lying if I said my lexicon was purely chaste.
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