I Love Women

Why do I love women?

I have 2 amazing daughters who are my pride and joy, they radiate youth, love and a passion for life and our new family unity. They hug me and embrace me in their lives with all the pleasures and pressures that teenage girls are exposed to and have to deal with. Their emotions needs to be expressed and vented and as a Dad I certainly dont have the answers, one thing I have learnt from my marriage is that most times, women just want someone to listen to them, embrace then and reassure them. Its tough and tempting not to reach for the baseball bat and administer some well needed common sense to those who hurt my angels, the strength needs to be in the arms of a Dad who embraces and not one who modifies faces.

I have a Mom who have been caring for my terminally ill Dad with advanced Parkinsons for years. She doesn't complain, resists any form of assistance and on a daily basis illustrates that love can conquer all, she gives and receives so little in return, she cares and prays and continues day in and day out, laughs when I speak to her makes me the proudest son there will ever be. How she does it I have no idea?

I have female friends, some married and some not. They have stood by me and advise, correct and even scold me when required, they have also praised me when I least expected it and pointed out where I have changed from the man whose marriage ended rather suddenly 5 years ago. They are family to me and I know I tire them and frustrate them, yet they stay. They are beautiful and strong passionate women who reflect beauty, strength, wisdom sometimes a stubborness I adore.

I have dated women since my divorce, wearily at first and then came to realise that most women are passionate creatures who should not be understood, but loved and spoilt. They are independent and sensual and need to converse with a man who is prepared to listen, you may glance at their sexy lumps, but sometimes a blush is required to acknowledge that you are a little shy and have a slightly higher emotional caliber than a cave man. To kiss a woman is one of life's true pleasures and seeing that slight glimmer of a smile as our lips part is a Kodak moment that is embedded in ones brain forever. I never grow tired of it.
I have contemplated long and hard on what the perfect gift is, flowers, perfume, bath salts, treats or jewellery. All have their place and time depending on the lady and as such each sends a certain message and requires a response. Lingerie delivered in a pizza box, a home cooked meal served with a glorious wine or a picnic followed with a walk holding hands all mean something different.

What do I "want" from a woman? The answer is nothing. I wish to share in their lives, their passions and roam into those areas of their minds with the assurance that I seek only to explore and delight in with their permission. I love their softness and passion as much as I admire their strength and ruthlessness.

To those that have graciously allowed me to get to know you better, thank you. You have touched me and reminded me what an honour it is to be a man, I am certainly no gentleman but have tried to be as much as I am able to.

Thank you and Nite all

Women!!

Imagine receiving a call from a good friend in the late hours of the night and they ask you in a tense voice to come over immediately and bring with the following supplies;

• Black garbage bags
• Duct tape
• Lots of acid
• An electric saw

My immediate thought would be that a tree has fallen into his swimming pool and it needs to be sawn up, bagged and the ph rectified in the pool, right?

Apparently not.

For the sake of this conversation lets assume that Jill called and upon arriving at the house in my lumberjack pajamas, I was informed that Jack had taken ill. She led me to the dining-room, past the patio where to my surprise I discovered that the pool was sparkling and devoid of branches, most confusing indeed. We cam across Jack and I could tell he was far from well by his inability to return my greeting or acknowledge my presence, the pool of red fluid next to him was not beetroot juice and Jills innocent glances everywhere but at me brought out the alert inner inspector in me.

More confusing was the handle of the knife protruding from between his shoulder blades, there is a slight possibility that he was peeling a stubborn beet and lost focus, what was I missing and more so, what would Sherlock Holmes do?

After a cup of coffee and a slice of chocolate cake, Jill seemed surprisingly chatty and stated that her and Jack had had words earlier and he had admitted to an extramarital affair with the babysittter. She seems to remember that he had interrupted her train of screaming and before she knew it he had stopped talking and twitching.

It was as clear as their swimming pool that she had called me over to assist her with the responsibility of choosing a new babysitter and she no longer wished to involve Jack because of his insistence to adopt a hands on approach with the hired help.I advised her as best I could and departed greeting Jack on the way out.

You may ask what can be learnt from this tale, it seems fair to assume that when a woman tells you bring over a strange array of supplies in the middle of the night, all she really wants is a friend to talk to.

Nite all

African Contracting

I have taken a brief leave of absence from composing words that stir deep emotions and sometimes anger with the occasional dose of joy, not to run off to India to hug a monk in the snow and then stare into a dirty mirror and announcing "I have found myself".

No I was simply in a rut of life overrun with frustration, sprinkled with anger and lightly dipped in anger.
Our industry of onsite engineering quality control is one where you are on the receiving end of abuse, anger and threats, yes similar to marriage except the prospect of occasional intercourse is not an option. For all purposes of logic and sanity, we are pushed to the limits of our capacity as would the mother of three year old twins, we work hard, grunt growl and flex flab and lock heads with contractors who plead innocence and  sometimes beg for one more chance, just one more Ted.
I have seen less begging and negotiating from a  toddler in a toy store. Its a daily occurrence, certain conversations even begin with "How are you today Ted, you look angry". The scowl I have had surgically plastered to my frown is the same I bear when my girls use the words "yummy" and "cute" and "oooh" to describe the bottom feeding lying treacherous slimy badly clothed stealing thugs commonly referred to as teenage boys.

My work colleague Danny, a petite 148kg  6ft3 gentleman has both a tazer and a large stick which when all else fails, are his toys that he will use to escort visitors from my office. He is the gentlest of souls unless you attempt to hold his hand while he driving or insist on a man hug at any time of the day.

So why do we do it?

Its a combination of living an ex-pat lifestyle coupled with guaranteed work for a period and beats an office situation any day. The drives around site, interacting with locals and the beautiful countryside, my amazing cleaning lady who I have trained in making the perfect cuppachino are all plus factors that balance the madness.
Photographic opportunities and working alongside professionals, plus the joy of training new individuals so that they will be able to further their careers and gain valuable experience make it a joy to do what we do.
So without further ado, let me go chase off the elephants from the tree in the bush that is our urinal and until next time . . .

Nite All

More than Coffee

There is a part of me that embraces the single life and single parenting because of the quality time spent with my girls, the time together is so precious that it seems to fly by quicker than a Sunday afternoon.
The fact that we can up and go and breeze into all shops and just chill is perhaps selfish at times but appreciated and adored by the three of us. We do not gladly share this time as it is ours and no we feel no guilt in saying this.
I have my flat or room to myself depending on whether I am in South Africa or Lesotho and the freedom has allowed me to ponder and philosophise about life and where it suddenly turned on me and how I managed to somehow emerge face side up. The positives is that with the help of some amazing friends, family and chemical additives I am still standing.

However, there is another side to all of this.

I live from month to month and as C so rightly informed me, so does most of the population in this country let alone the world. So what am I moaning about this time? Well, it is the reality that I am not invincible, not bullet proof and have taken a fair knock in the past 8 years, I smile, joke and tease a lot yet when I retreat into the privacy of my man cave I ponder on the future and the image I have needs some rainbows, a dawning of Aquarius and a Winnie the Pooh outlook on life. Below I have added a few that seem pertinent to me at the moment;

“Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” 

“Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them.” 

“Good judgment comes from experience, and experience - well, that comes from poor judgment.” 

So, where does that leave me, well in survival mode I suppose and yes we are allowed to have a good whinge about life and how we sometimes want to through the towel in, the fact that I am able to rise and go to Work Another Day does not make me James Bond, it just makes me a single parent. Someone who like billions of others gets frustrated, tired and has good days and others where he just wants to get back into bed and hide under the covers.

My Simon finishes school next year and Nicole is 2 years behind, as I do what I can to prepare them for the next adventure in their lives, it has forced me to accept certain realities such as seeing less of them. Being alone and independent has created methods of coping such as hiding our true emotions from others and smiling so that you dont have to face the inevitable "Are you ok?"

So how do I conclude this essay of despair and self pity, well lets just say that I am not alone in it all and there are glimmers of beauty that beckon. So all in all its one of those days where I require more than coffee.




Nite All.

Words

Picture yourself in a boat on a river, 

With tangerine trees and marmalade skies 

Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly, 

A girl with kaleidoscope eyes. 

When you dwell in the Land of the Mountain Kingdom and have adjusted to the pace dictated by non-Western influenced society, you have the option of either venting and complaining or alternatively embracing it.

There are many factors to add to the collage that is my mind and imagination as I contemplate who I am and where I am today, a love lost, but 2 amazing daughters came from it. Retrenchment, unemployment and depression followed by grave moments of self-doubt that have brought me to where I am now, starting anew despite financial organisations that seek blood and marrow of my soul. 

I am in possession of a well maintained belly, one that has withstood the abuse and taunting of grass eating cow hugging vitamin popping aliens whose intent it seems is to die healthy, my belief is that entry into heaven will not be decided on how many push-ups or carrots I have endured, I will not be asked how many desserts I turned down or cups of dark sensual hot aromatic coffee I enjoyed either alone or in the company of friends and family.

Lesotho has reminded me that an evening playing Scrabble with a dear friend and chatting to a loved one via messaging is more meaningful than I ever imagined it to be.  You may be wondering about the quote at the top of the page, well it is a picture painted with words, embellished with imagery that is so surreal you could close your eyes and picture it. My point is that we do not play enough with words, tease with them, roll them around our tongues and then set them free with a twinkle in our eye. Do not criticise another if they do not have the words in an order specified by some ancient rule still enforced and tolerated, instead embrace the fact that they are prepared to share an opinion or conversation with you. The age of electronic messaging has brought about the emergence of a new language, to deny it would be as foolish as ignoring the importance of botox in the life of Sly Stallone, stupidity in Paris Hilton and swearing in the Kardashian household.

I have come to appreciate all communication from family, friends and loved ones in my time here, it is often the absence of something taken for granted that is seen as a pearl amidst all about us. A simple greeting and word of encouragement reminds one that they are not forgotten and still somehow needed and loved. Silence has a manner of playing havoc on the mind, almost like giving a 2 year old a fork and a bowl of peas. 

I have not enjoyed being away from my special people, but have learnt so much by being forced to be alone and sharing a confined space with my demons. 

Let me finish with a quote from Sore Klerkegaard, " Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced"

Nite All

Moth to a Flame

A month away from home.
It contains 3 weeks of hard work and rest with exciting meals in-between  added to that are weekly trips to the local cinema where we watch movies still played on a reel film system and the purring of the projector and occasional jumping of the picture.
The trip to and from Maseru is a mixture of dodging mad pedestrians who consider themselves bull bar proof and sheep who stroll in front of you as if to remind you that the are permanent residents and you are the ex-pat. To complete the trio of the "Cannonball Run" are the local vehicles. No rear lights, travelling at 50km/h in the dark on the national road and the tendency to freeze at the sight of a vehicle approaching them from the rear.

The fourth week is when it reaches the point where the chemicals are required, nerves are raw and all on Site have a tendency to growl at each other like a wife and girlfriend meeting each other for the first time, Days and hours are counted down as the weekend home looms closer and with it a list of tasks and appointments, some for necessity and some for pleasure.

And this brings me to the subject of dating, courting and flirting and wining and dining.


My first responsibility lies with my daughters and together we anticipate the meeting after a month, a long hard hug with huge smiles and a kiss, then the next four days will be a succession of hugs and tales and holding hands as all that happened in the past month is shared and resolved if necessary.
These moments are often followed with me just watching and admiring my little ladies as they blossom into womanhood and start putting their stamp on who they will become.

I have friends that I need to see as they feed me with the positive energy and love that is so essential for my healthy mental state and positive input, these are also the creatures that know me and my devious habits and love me despite that. They share their families with me, their lives and in exceptional cases their puppies, they have become my circle of trust and those that I am accountable to.

Finally, the lady. Yes indeed, she flirts with my intellect, bedazzles me with imagery and brings a smile to my face as we discuss likes and dislikes and past and future. There is a common grasping and appreciation of food, wine, privacy and need of both intellectual and physical attractions and appreciation of family values.
I am continually intrigued on how the lack of chance applies to our lives, it serves to remind me that it is not a random rolling of the dice and many experiences and instances in our lives are moulded to bring us to where we are today. I am unique, however my circumstances are not.
The lady is a spark in a dark room and I shall continue to be drawn to her flame, perhaps this time I will not get burnt.

Nite all

A Pirate Forever

If you were a pirate!

Would you, could you, hold a cutlass to the throat of a man, look him in the eye and lean and say, "Well shiver me timbers, you want to date me daughter?"
As he sweats and his lower lip trembles, would you be able to say "Is it worth losing an eye and a hand over me laddie, if ye were daft enough to attempt to kiss her or lay one of your filthy paws on her, would you hear the oncoming blade as it swings towards your ever so pale exposed neck?"

Upon the birth of daughters, there is an ancient unwritten law that permits the father to take as many lives by any means as often as he deems fit, to protect the dignity and innocence of his angels. It is also stipulated in the same creed that his daughters are never at fault and any young smelly lying heathen male who insinuates differently should be dealt a slow painful death of the fathers choosing.

In days of old, it was customary for young ladies to wear chastity belts and be visible at all times.
Then there emerged the most evil of devices, the cellular phone.
It is a device so devious and despicable and when placed in the hands of a pimply overdressed hustler, allows many to hypnotise young ladies into poses and pouts no parent should ever be allowed to see. It is because of these threats that dads all over the world were solely responsible for the rise of a species called Zombies. Zombies are nothing more than teenage boys who have been injected with a Rabied Endorsed Drug Biologically Undertaking Life Loss, also commonly known as RED BULL. The state the teenager male emerges from after consumption of this drug, brainless and in seek of brains as he has none of his own, placing the entire world at risk and allows for the need of FATHER.
FATHER (Fighter Assassin Teacher Hero Eradicator Robot) is called upon to save the day, he the Bruce Willis of Destruction, the Chuck Norris of Toughness and the Incredible Hulk of Negotiators, when a teenage girl shouts "FATHER" he springs into action and protects her at all costs.

So why a pirate?

Simply because some have branded him outdated, over-protective and even, well I hate to mention it, barbaric. Pirates served a purpose fighting for those who could not fight for themselves, they sailed seas and fought monsters and finely dressed pampered sons of the Queen to protect their treasure.  Daughters are the treasure that FATHER protects and thus he is a modern day pirate, a saint whose passion is often not understood or honoured.

In closing, let this be an encouragement for all the Pirates out there, you have a mission and responsibility to uphold and protect that which is dear and sacred to you, your daughters.

Nite and happy hunting

Describe your God

So what dont we talk about or discuss and never question, religion.
Why?
Well we may offend someone is we had to possibly suggest that our perception of God, Jesus, Buddha or Muhammed is different to theirs, I am sure I have already offended some because their Leader of the Faith was not mentioned.

So let me start by saying that I am Christian and have been so for many years, I have had many fights with the organised church because I dare to question ideas and habits that I feel are outdated and no longer relevant in our time. This can be seen as a rebellious streak that has spanned 29 years or perhaps I am just tired of power struggles and politics that always seems to rear itself in all areas where Man needs to elevate himself.

Describe Jesus as a man and what would you say, I believe he was about 6ft tall, muscular and strong from the years of physical labour and a skin that was darkened from the days in the sun. His hands would be similar to my father-in-laws, hard and calloused with many scars from years of earning his keep as a carpenter, his hair would have been short and dark and his eyes brown. He would have been a man, someone who was as comfortable eating a meal with a bunch of fellow workers as he would have been in the presence of couples and families. He was a devout Jew and I am sure he was raised in their customs and ways.
Here is the crunch, is this what he looked like, was he tall and blond with long hair, was he black or white or something in-between  I dont care, to me it is the same as a friend of mine, I do not love them because of where they came from or what they wear or drive, I do not love them or despise them because they are beautiful or ordinary or harsh on the eye. I love them for who they are, it is something I have attempted in instil in my daughters lives and I pray it will remain with them as they mature and leave home.

Where would I find one as Jesus, would it be in an office, or a middle to upper class society? Would it be in a beautiful building or temple used for worship on a specific day of the week, I think not. The person who I believe has had the most humble yet effective life in our era was non other than Mother Theresa. She lived with those who had nothing, shared and cared and embraced a life with no luxuries and comforts, this where I would expect to find Jesus if He was around today.

My reasons for not attending church are not in the slightest pure and noble or even spiritual, they are logistical and selfish, I choose to spend the time in South Africa with my daughters and in Lesotho I have not found what I am looking for. I dont want to be a white collar Christian and attend an organisation where my 10 or 15% is required to grow that building and its administrators, I want to see it go to the folk who get their hands and knees dirty.

Rather do something once a year and embrace it than visit a club and be comfortable in a habit that clears your conscience for a week.

Nite All

Easter Bunny Rocks

Now I know you have barely recovered from Christmas and for those of you in the most delightful states of togetherness, joined at the lips and hips and still munching on your Valentines Day chocolates, well brace yourselves, the Easter Bunny is coming and he wants your money.

"He knows if you've been shopping

He knows when you're been good

He's gonna come a-hopping

And hide chocolate in the wood

Oooooooooo

So get up and make some coffee

Or tea with a hot cross bun

There's so much more for you to see

This Easter's gonna be fun

I strolled into my local grocer and he had a tower of Lindt bunnies, all golden and cute and with their little bells, it is frowned upon by both my daughters and the shop attendants when I fall to my knees and laugh hysterically at the sight of Lindt, so I save my expressive artistic cravings for when I am alone.

I also aware that is a very important period in the religious sectors and I respect that, but this about the bunny. 

Why a bunny? 

Well its actually quite simple really and it all goes back a long long time ago.

The owl was asked by the lion who would be delivering the Easter eggs and the owl said, "Hoo, Hoo indeed".

The ostrich tried, but it got sidetracked and kept sitting on them confusing them with its own and they just melted. Then the dodo tried and this would have worked if they hadn't all run of a cliff and died. The monkeys were given a chance and they were brilliant, they climbed and scampered and got in everywhere and would have been given the job if it were not for one minor problem, they refused to give the eggs to anyone.

So what was the lion to do?

Then the owl said, "I know hoo hoo?" "Let the hare be given a chance. He is fast, has excellent hearing and eyesite, he is fast and elusive and can hide in his holes in the ground, he is the one"

And thus it came to be that the bunny came to the sole distributor of the eggs, he opened many franchises and made lots and lots of money and spent it on drugs and died. Oh hang on, that's not true. 

Nite All

Beer Breasted Banters

I feel as I have been dragged behind Santa's sleigh since I have returned in January.

Firstly I am from Africa, I love the sun almost enough to exposed my now bleached unrippled torso to it, however I have teenage daughters who love me, but have social lives.
The days of skipping through shopping malls and pretending that I am unable to speak English seem to be over for now, I shall have to hide these superpowers until I am a grandpa and then full havoc will occur.

So what have I been doing, well I went to a beer festival in the lovely little town of Clarens in the Free State. It opened at 10 am and by 11 am I had made new friends, bought ladies in distress beer and solicited a kiss from a married woman in return for ale, I do so very much love beer. I had a Canon DSLR and spent large periods between tastings meeting people, chatting to them and taking their photos

There was the barman from Kwazulu Natal that I named Florence for his inability to produce his female assistant, he served me 3 ales and we discussed rugby, beer and why he was in fact wearing trousers when a skirt would enhance his legs so much better.
The crew from Mitchells Brewery were by far the winners and not only was their beer the best, smoothest and brought back memories of my robust post matric and army days, it was like kissing the person of your dreams, slow, gentle and sweet, growing in strength and passion until it consumes you with love and warmth as only beer can.
There was a stage where you want to hug all around you and bury your head in the ample bosoms of all the amazingly beautiful women around me, the problem was that what I saw in reality and what I saw through the camera lens led me to believe that coffee was required immediately. Yes I had already proposed to a very special lady and she was no longer talking to me.

So off to the town square and many unsuspecting characters who would be greeted, charmed and then shot Canon style. I congratulated a man who had misplaced his wife somewhere in a shop and we joked, pretended to look for here and parted laughing.
There was the coffee shop owner who was intimidated by his wife, a rare dark haired beauty who was still at the beer festival taking photos, we spoke of marriage and the role of the submissive wife in todays society, he laughed nervously and glanced over his shoulder as if he expected a beating soon.
Onto the SAB man from Cape Town with his wife and so nice to see them enjoy a cup of coffee together, these are the moments that I treasure, middle aged teenagers talking to each other as they smile  and share a special moment together.


Oh and then the noisy shop, an outlet that sold African hand-crafted musical instruments. As I approached the shop I heard noise that seemed to suggest that there were a troop of toddlers let loose and that their parents were either deaf or just exhausted, to my surprise it was an elderly couple causing all the chaos. I attempted to banish them to the naughty corner and was greeted with a look of shock, they explained that they were buying presents for their grandchildren and we laughed, I had no choice but to join them and of course photograph them.

There was the biker guy who was happy to be shot but his biker chick disapproved so he returned to his drink and would no longer speak to me, the African shopkeeper who sold me an elephant and tried to convince me to buy a camel, I dont mind camels but could never eat a whole one so I declined.

I left the town square and re-entered the beer festival, first I attempted to convince a policewoman to frisk me, her male colleagues laughed and she simply blushed and told me to go have a beer, as I have the utmost respect for the law I obliged. The costumed folk had arrived and so to the youngsters who had just surfaced from the previous evenings adventures, I bought some young men a few beers and they posed for me with smiles emulating those of lottery winners, watched a 2 man band doing a rendition of Stairway to Heaven that made me wish that my companion for the day was a lovely lady and not a 130kg friend and took some more pics as I made my way out and back to the ghost town named Bethlehem.

It was a most enjoyable and spectacular day

African Trimmings

I went for a haircut, at a local hairdresser and I was told a beautiful lady would be cutting my hair. As I was seated and prepped, an African lady larger than me with enough padding around her bottom to stuff a full lounge suite greeted me.
When she asked scissors or "that hair shearing thing what's name I just forgot" I should have smelt a rat, I said scissors of course, being adventurous
Then she brought scissors and one of those big combs the blacks with 
Afros keep in their hair
So I figured, this is a well setup hairdresser that charges R25 for a haircut so it should be ok? All true.

Right?

Hell no

She used the scissors and comb and proceeded to remove a huge chunk out of the right side of my head
Some sense returned as Danny my work colleague and friend abruptly turned and walked out laughing.
I put my specs on and did I leave? No
I told her that maybe the shearer would be better. She smiled and almost skipped off to get it
Danny came in smiling like a bloody naughty kid, it looked like he had been crying his eyes were so wet
She came back and asked if she should shave the top the same length as the back and Danny left the shop again
No I stayed, not sure if it was shock or stupidity at this stage
She used a no 4 all over and then back came the scissors
She did the round the ear bits and I prayed and apologised for all I had and would ever do.
Returneth the crying Danny

He asked my beautifully gifted hair stylist if she would mind if he could help AND SHE YES!!!
What the hell

He did a No3 round the back and sides, then asked for a No 2. He did the edges and sides AGAIN with it and I was not saying a word. I asked how it looked and I could have sworn I heard him snort

It was over.

I got a wash AFTER the haircut AND paid full price for it
As we walked out he laughed like a bloody idiot, the reason he had to use the No 2 was that on the other side to the big comb cut disaster, she had cut a stripe while trimming round my ear. The No 3 didn't remove it

Sigh. It was a real experience for the costly sum of R25.
The moral of the story once again is that Africa isnt for sissies.

Nite All.

My Idiots Guide to Raising Teenagers

Yes, you are the idiot. Accept it and you will be able to move on.
If not, read the first sentence until it dawns on you that you are, this is not rocket science.

Somewhere between the age of 13 and nineteen, supreme unsurmountable knowledge is bestowed on our angels and a level of all-knowing wisdom enters them. This will be extinguished upon them turning the ripe old age of 20 when worldly realizations of rent, work and somewhere to stay cannot be answered with mantras of "like whatever" or "just take a chill pill".

You have certain responsibilities as a parent and I will list them because like me, you do not have the capability to read and think at the same time. No, my dear fellow parent, you are not gifted.
You will work long hours, sometimes have 2 jobs to try and somehow make it to the third week of the month. You will beg, steal, borrow and refrain desperately from selling what you will consider excess body organs to keep a roof over your head, food on the table and purchase school items needed over and above school fees.

Clothing, torn costs more because it looks cool, so do not try to discuss it or refer to it as damaged or second hand, It does not matter that costs a fortune or is so cheap that the item may appear stolen, if it doesn't form part of an outfit it will be shunned, unless it is so desirable that all life on the planet will cease if it is not acquired. Are you following you me so far? Good.
This applies to the male and female teenage species and now we move onto the next item on the list, hair. We need to have access to enough products to survive a holocaust and must have both straighteners and curlers, branding is of the utmost importance because you, and I quote "can like to ruin your hair and like go bald early". Correct me if I misunderstand this, the hippies from my era had amazing hair, long and unkept and washed infrequently, did I imagine this? When mentioned that I used to just wear a cap when I overslept and didn't have time for a shower in my youth, I feel that somehow I am about to be swallowed up by the hair gods and spat out in a hell where there are no brushes, comb, shampoo or conditioner.

The environment is "super" important, UNLESS it somehow affects our sense of dress, hair, music, food to mention a few. More deodorant is spent in one session than I use in a week and I have a neutral body odour. Oh and have I mentioned the rolling of the eyes, the hand over the eyes and shaking head and the proverbial open mouth dropped jaw looks that you will receive as a parent? They are merely expressions of amazement and hero-worship for some act that you have carried out to be remembered forever and discussed with their peers. "You are SO not gonna believe what my Dad did in the shopping centre yesterday!" See, pride and acknowledgement.

So dear parent, how do you cope with this alien that has been forced upon you?
You love it, feed and clothe it and don't attempt to understand it. We are all in need of unconditional love without judgement, however this doesn't not mean allowing them free reign over your world. By no means, your house so your rules and consequences for actions.

Nite All

Miles of Smiles Part Three

Christmas & Beyond

I used to love Christmas, the music, tree and all its decorations, cooking for lots of people and presents and most importantly, the Christmas Service at our local Church. The second last time we attended the Service, I went dressed in my Father Christmas outfit and the looks I got from the little kids present (and some of the parents) were worth every bucket of sweat I shed in that hour.
Since the divorce, I haven't been back to a Christmas Service, perhaps next year I will pluck up the courage.

So we were ready, off to bed early, trifle made, meat ready to go into the oven, presents wrapped and Dad sleeping. The previous three year Brian,Dee and their family had opened their homes to us and we had embraced this as place of safety to survive the day, this year we wanted it to be different.
We awoke, showered, wished each other Merry Christmas and my Mom and I got my Dad out of his bed, onto the wheelchair and then into his lazyboy chair, Mom does 90% of it and I simply assist because I want to be there, its more important than life itself that I do something.
Presents on the coffee table, Simon the official distributor and me with my Canon shooting the whole event. 
Lunch was amazing, my Mom feeding my Dad and the girls and I unable to move as we felt so full we   were not able to lie on our bellies for fear that our heads would not reach the pillows.
It was our third Christmas together and finally the spirit was back again.

The next day was shell hunting, (a task so dangerous that I was forced to reveal my torso to ward off the predators), a swim in the sea and supper with Brad and Vicky. This trip had also allowed us to meet old friends, some for the first time. In an age of electronic friendships, international friendships are possible and on this trip I was determined to meet as many of my friends I had never seen face to face, Brad and Vicky are not one of those, they have a house that oozes love, food, fellowship and  amazing wine. It was a home to all who entered it and no-one left empty handed. 

In life there are moments where you can just feel blessed and cared for, this holiday was reaching a stage where old wounds that were sealed were being healed, it was a spiritual experience where all we encountered was love and beauty and I felt like breathing again.

Miles of Smiles Part Two

Beach & Shopping

Rested and fed and fed again, the girls and I headed to the beach and our first of many encounters with the surf clothing shops, Country Feeling, Billabong to name a few. 

They shopped, and shopped, then shopped a little more and when I was proudly holing up a white speedo for all to see they simply shook their heads in disbelief and shopped a little more. No, I was not permitted to try on the white speedo and sing YMCA for the fellow shoppers, I was sent to purchase water. 

R12 for a bottle of 500ml water, I asked the shop attendant if that included the vaseline to make the whole episode less painful, the blank stare I received told me all I needed to know. I returned to my girls and ignored the security whose frail attempts to inform me that refreshments were not allowed in the shop, imagine I slipped and spilt some bottled water on a bikini or a towel, heck they would have to throw it out.

And so the shopping ended with a drunk stumbling barefooted local showing me how to reverse and then patiently waiting for payment for his expertise, we arrived at the beach. I removed my shirt and slops, flexed and relaxed my wobbly bits and with my camera round my neck followed Simon and Nicole to the waters edge. I was finally on holiday, I clicked and focussed and shot everything in sight, spoke to bikini clad ladies and then photographed them, the girls were on a venture to collect shells so I photographed them as well.

The sea air, the laughter, the little kid who splashed me and whose head I was now holding under the water, it was just what I needed. 

We arrived back at my parents house and raided the fridge which was bursting as usual, went to check on my Dad and he looked much better than the previous day, the cooler weather was definitely helping. Mom and I discussed Christmas lunch which would included 3 different meats and enough food to feed  a troop of JW's if they came a-knocking.

My Mom is so in control and bubbly that you would never guess that she is a pensioner/wife/nurse/cook/Mom to 4 and Granny to 3. She wakes up with a smile and just gets through the day taking all life deals her. She deals with her sorrow and hardships with a strong faith and never say die attitude. 

A final trip to the shops for some last minute Christmas shopping for the girls and some more photo shooting for me and we were ready for a family Christmas. This was what the girls and I had been talking about and planning for more than 6 months, Christmas at my folks with Granny's cooking. Simon had made her now famous trifle and we fell asleep with smiles on our faces.

It was hard to believe that this was the same shattered, bruised and broken family of three that had to face Christmas three years ago, raw from divorce. Time, hard work, love and faith can indeed work miracles.

Miles of Smiles Part One

Getting There . . .

It was a road trip that we had dreamt of, discussed and planned for months, and it was finally here.

My girls awoke me at one in the morning, we packed Daisy to the hilt and headed off to the coast, I was the designated driver and Nicole sat next me riding shotgun and keeping me awake.

Nighttime, toll roads and tarred roads as long as Granddad's tales of "when I was your age", as the road rose to meet us I found myself as relaxed as a fatboy eating a bucket of KFC and not having to share. With the sound of Sugarman humming in the background, i reflected on the past year, tough - yes, lonely - hell yes, rewarding - undoubtably. The sacrifice that my girls and I had made when I took on my Lesotho adventure had made this holiday possible, this was the icing on the top complete with a lit candle and singing voices.
We drove and chatted and sang our lungs out, my version of white man rapping had my girls hiding their heads in shame ad thus I persevered. By the time we got to Grahamstown, it was 40'C and we were melting, no-one was singing anymore and Simon was as pale as she was red and flushed, it was as if someone had switched the cold water off in a shower we could not escape. This continued for and hour and a half and then we saw the ocean. We had arrived in JBay.

My Mom met us with hugs and a smile that I had sorely missed and I went through to see my Dad.
He was lying on his bed. He looked like a stroke victim with a huge scar on his arm when he had had a plate inserted after he had broken it. I was shocked and shaken, but put on a brave face, afterall this was my Father, my hero, the man who loved and encouraged me to reach the sporting standards I had, and now he was lying here staring ahead with no recognition of me at all. My Mom came into the room and I put my arm around her and we chatted about Dad, how she managed to stay so positive through all of this will remain with me forever. The words "for better or for worse, through sickness and in health till death us do part" brought a tear to my eye and I rubbed it away quickly.
In the days ahead my Dad would improve and slowly get stronger, the Parkinsons has eaten away at him yet he fights it daily with the aid of a loving wife who refuses to give up and leave her partner of 48 years. Were it not her, my Dad would have left us years ago.
She feeds him, washes and clothes him and changes him when he has messed himself, she talks to him throughout it all and lies with him when he sleeps. She is as protective over him as a teenager with her first Blackberry.

We had arrived, tired, hot but happy.