Seasonal cycles

October already and as students start charging ahead with their studies and the shops are filling up with Christmas goodies I thought it was time for me to have a bit of my time.  My time being catching up on reading, doing the mending, writing a blog post every day, taking a stroll around the neighborhood and having delightful tea parties sitting outside under the shade and discussing all and everything that comes to mind.
Instead there seems to be a huge rush to get things done and as fast as best plans are laid so dates are changed and all the arrangements so carefully noted and discussed go to the dogs and seem to lie on the front lawn amidst a collection of old dog toys, tennis balls and half chewed bits of rawhide and hoof that seem in some strange and inexplicable way to keep canine teeth white and shiny.
Here one must note that this is such an environmentally good way to clean teeth.  No plastic packaging, no boxes to hold new tooth brushes and pastes, most important of all no taps running while water is being sloshed around the mouth and a generous rinsing is being done.  Do not forget after all of this to please rinse the basin, another huge waste of that precious commodity water.   Please someone out there try it and let us know, thank you in advance!!!
However we digress,  back to the subject at hand, seasonal changes.  For the first time in many a year I will not be hosting the family Christmas Dinner Party, instead my daughter will have the pleasure.  My grandson has already made the most glorious Christmas pudding, and as it sat in the pot boiling merrily how all the delights of the festive season came back to softly tease my mind.
Here in South Africa when mid-summer arrives all the flowers in the garden seem to lose their scents and unless one rises with the Sun we tend to forget what pleasure Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow,  fresh spring roses, jasmine and lavender bring to our noses on the slightest breeze.  Yet come the time to bake the Christmas cake why is it that the smell from the hot oven seems to waft down the road and remind us all of good things coming in the near future?
I do not know what Christmas will bring to me and mine, I do not know which friends will be invited to the dinner.  I wait patiently for lists of what the family really want as gifts and think long and hard about what I would like to receive, here the choice always seems to come down to which book or CD do I really want at the moment.
There is family talk about moving homes, changing schools, what is needed and what should be discarded.  Why is it so hard to part with something we have forgotten we own and have not used for months?  Perhaps in another lifetime my family have all been related to magpies and have not yet lost their talent for hording at that glitters and a lot that does not!
Then, when I take all into consideration, is it me that is the magpie, trying so hard to keep all together with an invisible piece of string?  Me not wanting to have the changes that are part of life and growing up and growing old?  Me sitting so contentedly with so much that I love around me?
Me that wants things to stay the same all for the sake of feeling secure!!!

Bread for the birds

Being overweight and having a huge liking for bread it is always hard to resist temptation and walk past the racks of fresh bread or even the packs of uncooked bread dough that seem to beckon me from all corners of the local supermarket.
I love the old fashioned unsliced loaves with the crispy crusts and the soft inners that one can cut quite thick, toast and spread with great lashings of butter and thick slices of cheese or dollops of home made jam. (Yes alright, no wonder I have a weight problem, don't say it I know).
Not being faint of heart where food is concerned I cannot be bothered with the light, fluffy and flavourless, plastic wrapped and sliced thin commercial excuses for a loaf of bread.
Food must always be substantial and enjoyable, for is it not the staff of life? Since I tend to think big in so many ways is why I probably eat big as well. Sorry to say though that I do not have the big energy thing, never have had it actually.
Back to the bread, there is rather a lot in a full loaf and as the man of the house has four slices for lunch and the dogs share two on their anchovy paste midnight snack there is almost half a loaf every day that is left for me to walk past every time I enter my kitchen.
This is not good as I do not like drooling whenever I walk past it, so I have had to come up with ideas of how to enjoy bread yet not eat it if humanly possible.
That now bring me to the birds, with it being spring and there being no cats in neighbouring gardens I have so many small families of swallows, yellow weavers, pigeons, black-eyed bull-bulls, white eyes and sun birds that are busy building nests and homes in trees and rafters around the property.
I have found if I open the lounge curtains early, place a comfortable chair with a good view of the world outside, spread crumbs and small pieces of my bread over the garden with slices of fruit so that all my feathered tenants are fed properly, I can then sit for at least an hour and enjoy watching them eating my bread.
I am finding this form of dieting to be rather good, I still have the pleasure of shopping for the bread, but am also getting so much benefit by seeing others eating it. My weight is slowly decreasing and there are not many things that are more peaceful than sitting in your own home and witnessing nature just outside the door.

Half baked friendships

Humans seem to put so much into the importance of friendships, the feelings of belonging and being loved and cared for. Why then, I ask, do so many of us prefer to correspond via sms messaging, e-mailing or type talking? Are we not cutting our human ties with each other by linking more and more via electronics where we so often cannot hear or see each other?
Have we not taken the ship out of friendship and now each of us quietly rows our own little boat in the hope that a storm will not come up and dash our boat into someone else that is paddling along minding their own business?
When last did you put pen to paper and lick to stamp and write a long letter to a friend, take the walk or drive to the post box and post the letter ? Or when did you last receive a handwritten letter from one of you near and dears that have taken the time and trouble to sit down and devote some real time to their thoughts about you?
I love going to the post box and on opening it finding that I have a letter, I take it home, make myself a cup of coffee and sit quietly all by myself to read what someone has made the effort to write. If I am lucky this happens once or twice a year, instead when I go to collect post there are bills of all sorts, or statements. These only seem to remind me of how I need to control finances better than I am at any given moment.
The next question I need to ask is when did you last pick up a telephone and call someone just to see how they are? Most of us these days only phone as a last resort and when we are needing urgent answers. How often when we see who is phoning us do we not bother to answer?
Shame on us all, no wonder we are tending towards getting more and more psychopathic with each other, we are losing the social skills which are so important to developing lasting relationships, or is that another ship that is sinking?

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Originally uploaded by meadow ladies

Oortjies, a brave little dog.

Oortjies is a small male dog that has had a bit of a rough time over the last few months. Although very much loved by his human parents his Daddy passed a month ago and his Mommy has gone to stay with his big human sister in Australia for a few months.
Oortjies is fourteen years old and quite frail and his family were worried how he was going to cope with no Mommy or Daddy to look after him. Euthanasia was discussed, as the local kennels for some reason, will not take animals over seven years old as boarders.
We live next door to Oortjies and on hearing the sad story volunteered to have him with us until his Mommy returns home. When he first arrived he was nervous and very unsure, and seemed to battle to understand why he had been left over the wall.
We also had a language problem as Oortjies has been brought up as an Afrikaans dog, and our Afrikaans is at the laughable stage. Please do not say that animals are not language orientated and they only understand the tone of voice used with them. Like humans they understand best the language they are brought up with.
Not only was little Oortjies now staying with strangers but also with two rather frisky and full of life female dogs. Life had suddenly changed so very much for him, for a few days he hardly ate and would sit all day by the corner of the exterior wall and bark rather sadly in the hope his Mommy would appear to fetch him.
Talking, treats and just being near him started his acceptance of us and our family. Oortjies took over little Dixie dog's bed and they decided between them to swop dinner bowls and within a week the dogs had accepted each other and Oortjies had decided that as humans we were not as bad as he first thought, even though we do talk in a funny way.
We now have three dogs that run around and play together all day, eat their meals together and when we go to bed at night each knows where they will be sleeping and after anchovy paste sandwiches and being tucked in for the night calm and peace settle over the house.
Oortjies is the perfect boarder, he never complains about what meals he is served and is willing to share chairs and couches with humans and other dogs as long as there are blankets and hugs that go with the sharing.
It really is a pleasure to share our lives with this small gentleman for a while and he will always be welcome in our home.

Surroundings of death.

Last month seems to have brought more messages of deaths than any other time I can remember.
Although those that have gone to a better place have not been family members or close friends the deaths have been close enough to affect me with a strange sort of depression.
I have always believed that life is a celebration and therefore the passing of a life should also be a celebration for the soul that is now freed. Yes, admittedly there are always and should be tears of grief and sadness with any passing, human or otherwise, but is this grief and sorrow not more for those that remain behind than those that have passed.
When a loved one leaves us for a better place we know that we will miss them and we are allowed to take the journey of disbelief, grief, anger and all those other emotional feelings that seem to clog up our systems and stop us from moving forward.
This is however a part of being human so should be considered as acceptable to a point. Perhaps, in a cold blooded sort of way, I do not understand others feelings about death, what I do know is that when the bus runs me over then I hope that no one will be playing sad and mournful music to celebrate my beingness.
No matter what sort of life we have led there has always been happiness in some form or other to dull the blade of hopelessness. Physical life is a pleasure in so many ways and to learn to enjoy each lesson and hurdle can only enlighten us to greater heights.
When I am gone I do not want my family to ever think of me as poor ........., rather let them continue to laugh with and at me, sing "All things bright and beautiful" and may no loved one or friend of mine ever have to carry my coffin enclosed dead body.
Life is always good whether spent here on Earth or in some other place in the Universe.

Thinking like my dogs and understanding my neighbours!!!

Have you ever felt the need to totally understand those souls that live with and around you. I find myself at the age of fifty-six living in a small rural village where we are the only English speaking family in the street and that although neighbours greet us whenever we see each other there is never any attempt to form neighbourly friendship from either side.
Although my curiosity usually leads my nose in the direction of finding things out I feel that here there is such a huge invisible barrier around our property that there is no way that we can ever overcome language differences and get to swap jam recipes and gardening tips with our fellow street dwellers.
Even the dogs seem to keep separate and to themselves and although they bark and do the perimeter wall run when anyone or thing passes they show no signs at all of ever forming friendships themselves with the neighbourhood animals.
That brings me to the point of what do my animals think about different nationalities and different peoples life styles. Do they cast rolling eyes at passers by wondering how they can walk their pets with such a strange array of winter doggy clothing that my dear ones would be ashamed to wear as pyjamas when only the family is at home? Perhaps my little dears are far too spoilt and therefore do not have to wear castdowns from some dark and dismal about to go bankrupt shop in the middle of the hommadullas (a place of not much of anything where no one wants to be).


Have we had such a great influence over our pets that they have adapted to our tastes and ways? Or do they do things to please us which maybe in their doggy minds ensures weekly bones and daily biscuits, finished with an anchovy paste sandwich for bedtime snacking.
Does there happy tail wagging session when we return from anywhere really mean they are happy to see us again or are we misinterpreting their body language to suit our own short- comings in that we have this strange human desire to always be wanted and needed by whoever and whatever comes into our lives?
Provided of course all is in our own mother tongue and to our tastes and standards. As animals cannot or will not talk back to us and foreign speaking neighbours could not care about us one way or the other, no wonder that it is so hard these days to find friends other than our always faithful pets.

Cold to the bone!!!

Come winter I am the one who does not complain about the chilly winds and frosty mornings, but rather tend to sit long hours in the pleasant outdoors, feet in the sun and head in the shade. I love winters crispness and the feeling of soft velvety cold air on bare arms and feet.
Winter foods that make ones mouth water and the warm comfort of hands around a large mug of coffee.
Never have I been able to work out how or why I ended up being born in the Southern Hemisphere in a hot, dry climate. I dodge the Sun all summer long and cannot wait for autumn to bring in her cheer of falling leaves and dappled shade, chilling evening air and the blood orange sunsets that smother the western skies with the promises of starry clear nights.
I enjoy taking the dogs out last thing before bed and as we wander together around the garden the distant smell of other peoples fires and pollution does not deter me from sniffing in the cold air and gazing up at the starlit skies and being amazed by the vastness of the small amount of the Universe that is visible to me.
Why do the Heavens of a winters night always look so freshly washed and hung up to dry? Each star sparkling like a distant diamond catching the rays from some far off Sun.
I love the cold, I love feeling cold and breathing in cold air. I love the energy that autumn and winter bring into my life each year and the promises they both hold that other life is only sleeping for now.
As the rush of spring comes and the days warm up so I tend to slow my pace down and dodge the sunshine for indoors and shady havens in the coolest spots that I can find. Spring with all its beauty gives too much of a warning of the heat that is to come and therefore when September arrives and the first spring rains fall then I go into my own form of hibernation and sit through the heat longing for the first leaf to fall and the miracle of the end of summer and the beginning of autumn to be here once again.

Chewing on metaphors!

SYDNEY HARBOUR BRIDGE

There is something about metaphors that make me go into a metamorphosis state of a mind filled with a kaleidoscope of words rather than colours. Almost like a jigsaw puzzle that is done upside down and one only sees the true and real picture when the puzzle is turned the right way round and then displays all its glory and the meaning becomes suddenly clear.
How lovely too it is to see picture conundrums where one has to look and think hard before the riddle of circles and lines becomes clear. To improve the mind, just like any muscle in the body, one must exercise it to the extreme to get the Goliath type image without the Achilles heel of weakness. How easy it is to fall off the band wagon of braininess and into the quagmire pit of the ignorant in their bliss.
To be illiterate must be similar to being colour blind in the world of words and although often when one is unable to read or write they do have a great understanding of words and their meanings they still might have an immense feeling of lack when they open a book and are unable to decipher the beauty of what is written within.
I thank my luck stars for gracing me with an education and the ability to think and react in my own way about what goes on, in and around me.

Blue meditation, when the owl calls my name.

Heaven only knows why I link the colour blue to peaceful happiness in a perfectly still world. To me there is nothing nicer than to put on soft chanting music and climb into a warm foamy bath in the knowledge that the next few hours are for yourself alone.
I love to lie in water and forget the world around me and it is then I find that I am just "me". Being myself is very important, it is at these times when I am "me" that I find I can discover more about all that is around me and affects me.
If blue is brought into this equation then an acceptance of self follows and peace on all levels is maintained. It then matters not if one does not show the human outlook of perfection in the physical, nor the mental capabilities expected from those around one who only seek to criticise .
It is when immersed in soft comforting warm water, almost like the foetal womb, that the calling of the owl is heard. The wisdom of the owl and his calling of one's name are the combining of human and animal ancient intelligences and therefore when the two are brought together they bring about an almost total understanding of all that is and all that was.
To know and accept the calling of one's name by the owl is to realise that the soul is what controls our existence, not the physical body. When this fact is realised then one can only grow forward in the total knowledge that yes, perhaps man can be immortal, but only his soul and when physical importance falls away true meaning of everything will become as clear as the proverbial mountain stream and all false thoughts and ideas will filter away and the pure truth will be known.

Churnings of my mind.

Do you ever get the feeling that some foreign and strange being is trying its hardest to take over your mind by filling your everyday thoughts with the most pathetic trivial matter that can be found? Or perhaps, is it that for the moment you are losing things, particularly sanity, for wayward ideas and almost thoughtless visualisations that cross through the wave patterns of brain matter.
I intensely dislike any form of losing control over my mind, the drug and alcohol induced stupors that so many think helps them find something or loses them in nothingness are not for me. My brain, no matter how good or not, is what I depend on for thought patterns which are my self inflicted form of sanity and how I am able to work through whatever the Universe happens to throw my way.
The biggest part of me is not the overextended waistline caused by an overindulgence in edible matter, but the overindulged brain that is never allowed to be quiet, rest can only weaken the soul, so onward forever in the search of something new and more interesting on the horizon of mental sanity, the hunt for the elusive metaphorical butterfly of perfect human intelligence that will open all doors and windows of my mind and forever refresh it with new and wonderful thoughts.

A comfortable winters armchair.

It's halfway through May already and although the nights are chilly the days are soft and warm and constantly inviting one to step outside the door and see what is going on in the world outside. The air feels like velvet on the skin almost as if one is wrapped in a weightless cloak that does not warm one up, but is there rather as a reminder that soon the time will be upon us to take out the winter warmers and snuggle down into the comfort of the old armchair.
It is past autumn time, but she seems to be hanging around almost as if she has not quite finished all her work for this year, or perhaps she is remaining to play with us as a naughty child that does not want to go to bed would do.
Why I ask are birds so alive in this weather? There is a constant chattering of reminders for me to scatter crumbs and treats out the front door for them and as they float down on pillows of soft air to have their meal there seems to be a laziness about them, a slowing down of the system so that they can almost melt into winter when she finally does arrive.
For myself, I love the feeling of coolness on my skin when I wake up in the middle of the night and stick an exploratory foot out from under the covers. I love the feeling of the cold air as it gently massages, bringing blood to the surface and reminding me that life is good whether or not you have a blanket over you.
That in the end brings me to my armchair, with is high back and wings to snuggle into, to copious cups of coffee, to marshmallows and to good books that have sat on the shelf all summer long patiently waiting for winter to arrive so that they can be dusted down and brought to life just by the turning of their pages.

Genre - the juicy red apple of the day?

Why does some word or other suddenly come to the forefront of spoken word and is thereafter heard on every tongue and in every text until we tend to lose all possible significant meaning and it becomes another of the over-used and over-abused victims of the lazy English speakers repertoire of what is fashionable and in at the moment.
Genre seems to be top of the list at present and one cannot turn on television or radio without someone mentioning it at any given and available opportunity. It is almost as if once the word is tasted as it leaves the mouth the speaker has to keep going back to the juicy apple of it all for just one more taste of fashionable speech. The trouble here is that it might be a delightful word to utter over and over but for the poor listeners the sound, in the end, seems to leave a rather sour and unwanted taste in their mouths.
No wonder that we seem not to be producing Shakespeare, Milton and Burns type literature any more, it is as if we have taken the traditional claymore and shattered the hopes of the English language by following in the footsteps of each others mutterables in the fear of ever sounding even the slightest bit original in our own speech.
Why on Earth did Edison give us the light bulb if he did not intend for each one of us in some way to see some of the light ourselves.
Humans are becoming more followers than leaders by trying to impress others we are oppressing ourselves.

Pins in my bottom

In childhood days often we would have a much younger child to stay and because of the age difference we would often tease him, just because. He would get so cross and then storm out the room informing whoever had annoyed him that they were, "A pin in his bottom". His delightful expression of anger has stayed fresh in our minds and is still used to describe any annoyances that happen in our daily living.
I am feeling at the moment that my bottom is more like a pin cushion than anything as so many things seem to be forcing their attention in a prickly manner towards my rear. Television at the moment is more like a hat pin than a sewing pin and as one floats in channel space looking for something they have not seen in the past week despair seems to creep slowly into the soul as once again the realization is made that there is not one single thing to watch that is new and fresh on the screen. It is almost as if we are being forced to go out and by the entire set of DVD's of, "Little house on the prairie", remember that perfect family that perfected boredom for the viewer.
Then there is the filthy supermarket down the road where on hot days one can smell the meat as they step out of their cars. A bit of personal puzzlement here, why would anyone want to buy meat that is very obviously going off in the first place? However perhaps this is an acquired taste as the meat seems to willingly follow its purchasers out the door, often almost on it's own legs.
Can you remember when last you have made an appointment with doctor, beautician, hairdresser, psychiatrist, manicurist or whatever and they were on time? Do they think that their time is more important than yours? Me thinks they all ought to be doing time management courses instead of playing computer games between appointments.
What about medicines that make you feel worse, or am I an unknowing guinea pig made to suffer for the betterment of human kind or whatever? Why if we keep getting told that we are capable of healing ourselves do so few of us manage to do it? Why are we so important that we think we deserve immortality? But that is another subject that might take me more than one lifetime to discuss.
The more I think about things the more punctured my bottom seems to get so perhaps I will hit the coffee pot of pure pleasure and go off into some mindless world of my own where I can visualize the perfect world and perhaps with a bit of luck manifest it into the physical.
Wish me luck.

Political wastage.

For weeks on end as the South African public has taken to the streets for whatever reason, we have been inundated with the not very becoming portraits of our political party leaders smiling or scowling down at us from lamp posts and trees. When one thinks about it surely we do not have to see their faces every fifty meters or so, in my mind once per kilometre would have been very ample.
It has been interesting driving down quiet and seldom used country roads and seeing stuck to the barbed wire fences of our time all these faces that keep promising us peace, health, education and work. Admittedly the signboards have probably fed numerous goats that have happened to pass by and so have, in a small way, at least helped to assuage the hunger in the animal population.
I do however wonder at how many trees were chopped down to produce all this, in the end paper wastage? How many tons of paper and cardboard were produced for the rather massive and I wonder how futile attempts to persuade one to put ones crosses on two other pieces of paper that after being accounted for will also become some part of this massive political wastage.
In a world where responsible leaders are trying to influence their public towards a greener planet is it the right thing to do to destroy forests and create, after the election process, massive mountains of political paper wastage.
Personally I think not and so I will keep the subject "current in my affairs" until perhaps one day someone will manage to come up with a suitable alternative and I will be able to place a mental tick on an imagined piece of paper in my mind.

International differences

Each nationality seems to have it's own high and low points and when wishing for what I would really like to be I have to look at the world pool of what I like and dislike to help make up my mind as to how I could be drastically improved upon.
So here goes, I think a West Indian should have chosen my name, have you ever heard a West Indians name that did not sing? Then I would want to speak English with an Italian accent, very creamy, dreamy. My height would have to be of a Maasai warrior - tall and straight backed. The African black woman's ability to stand and walk properly in very high stiletto heals, another definite must.
An even English mixture of Oscar Wilde and William Shakespeare's ways with words and then the added ability of putting said words to the music of the great European composers, Handel and Beethoven in particular.
The attitude of so many North Americans that they are indeed the chosen ones, and perhaps they may well be! The unfreckled porcelain skin of a Scandinavian teenager, the piercing eyes of a Russian Cossack horseback dancer, the French style of fashion. The nomadic ways of a Bedouin tribesman, the tiny feet of a Chinese woman.
The mental precision of a Swiss watch, and the strength of a Canadian lumberjack. An Amazonians link to nature and the spirit world.
Hair, any colour but red, from anywhere. Passion from all the great poets that ever were.
An Irishman's laugh, the wisdom of an ancient Greek and an international attitude to just be me!!!

Is our own Titanic sinking?

On this day in 1912 the unsinkable Titanic sank rather quickly to the bottom of the Atlantic ocean. There were very few who survived to continue on with their lives, such an ordeal must have left heavy imprints of frightening memories of bright beginnings that had somehow, against all odds, gone horribly wrong.
Are we, the so often forever hopefuls about our own bright future here in South Africa sailing on our own Titanic of political greediness and upheaval? We have only to look to the north to realise that the African continent is not a very safe fleet to be sailing with, many a ship has floundered on the rash and unkept promises of some democratically elected tyrant who immediately seems to become another despotic ruler to lead their followers on an (often bloody) path of destruction and chaos while they put on their sad and woeful faces to the rest of the world and with both hands together and outstretched beg for aid for their sick and starving populations mainly because they have themselves depleted the countries coffers by shunting out the lands wealth into their private Swiss Bank accounts.
Why do the African people keep voting for leaders who have already proven themselves to be dishonest and uncaring?
Here in South Africa, if we are not very careful, next week on Wednesday 22 we might be boarding our own sinking ship and soon many of us who had started the journey with happy smiling faces will be looking back at distant horizons of dreams of peace in our time and may well be wishing that we had placed our cross somewhere else on the election paper.
We need to think very carefully about who and what we are voting for, else it might be that our own written crosses are perhaps the very hardest we will ever have to bare.

Barack Obama a goal scored for the world

At last, and perhaps as usual, America has decided to, I hope, lead the world back into something they started when they voted J F Kennedy into the White House. They have elected a young, healthy and good looking President to take over the worn reigns of outdated presidential ware that seems to have been hanging on the special offer shelves for the past four decades and as we all know, not every bargain is a bargain.
Why does the world keep giving power to worn out and often not very healthy elderly men when there are so many fresh faces waiting in the sidelines to step forward and bring changes? The older we get the shorter our aspect of the future is so if we elect someone in their late sixties or early seventies then their future outlook is probably ten, twenty, maybe even thirty years ahead in their allotted time span of life.
In most countries the presidential seat is only for short periods, four to five years and perhaps a second term if one is lucky. The world needs the Barack Obama's to be stepping forward in the cyberspace age and looking ahead not till their own lives have ended but to the future centuries of human endeavours.
History and science have shown us that what was good for our forefathers is not necessarily good for us now. Old folk tend to look back at the past and dwell on it, where as the younger ones are living in the times and look towards the future as they strive to make their marks on the world.
May other countries follow this, I hope, trend and may we see a lot of elected leaders stepping forward into their places with keyboards at the ready instead of sandwiches in their briefcases.

Hot Cross Buns and Easter Tide memories.

Looking back to childhood days and the memories that are still so vivid in mind and imagination Good Friday always seems very much at the forefront of those that are worth holding onto. The whole family would be woken up early and there would usually be kippers for breakfast and somehow the strong fishy smell of those kippers was always completely over-awed with the delightful aroma of Mothers Hot Cross buns, and as she kneaded away at the dough the Christian scents of cinnamon and mixed spices would permeate the air and a quiet peace would throw a blanket over the house as if bestowing a blessing on us all.
Breakfast over then off to church the family would go for the "Stations of the Cross" service. It was long and so the children, when we were small, did not stay for its completion but were allowed to walk home when we were tired of standing. This always seemed unfair as after standing for at least two hours we still had about a fifteen minute walk home.
My parents always seemed to return home from church with friends who had been invited to join us for an afternoon tea of freshly baked Hot Cross buns which were smothered with thick farm butter which melted and dripped over onto our plates. As we hungrily gobbled our way through the buns my Father would play Handel's "Messiah", talking was not needed, we were safe and content and knew who we were.
On Good Fridays fish pie was always on the menu for supper and as we sat around the dining table and the conversation allowed itself to be led wherever we chose there was always that feeling of belonging, of being a part of, of just being there, of eternity, of the goodness of all and of being surrounded by love.
When I was growing up my childhood seemed to be very normal to me, yet when I look back now I realise how fortunate I was to have so many wonderful memories to recall at special times of the year.
Happy Easter to all.

Italian dreaming

Lost in the mindless churning desert storms of half forgotten dreams and make believe fantasies of what is and what is not I look back to wonderful moments in my life and wonder were they all realities or were some of them part real, part fable and if there is fable what sort of lesson am I, this mere mortal of brain, bones, rather flabby brawn and yet with soul, meant to understand from it all.
One year ago I went on a marvellous trip to Italy with my grandson Guy, when I recall those moments now they are clouded in the mysteries of magical moments while walking through such magnificent places as the Vatican and Sistine Chapel, where totally lost in the beauty and opulence of all, their are scant recollections of what was and what was not. Vivid colours seemed to abound and link the Catholic Christian belief system into something very tangible and believable, as if here at least there is positive proof of the Christian God and of Jesus. One could almost hear the prayers and hymn singing of ancient worshippers as their feet shuffled about those architectural masterpieces and hear their sighs as they gazed in wonderment at the beautiful artworks that abounded throughout.

A perfect peace seemed to pervade through all, perhaps here was a glimpse of Heaven.

Heart attacks and organ transplants

What is it about modern age man that we all desire some form of immortality? We all seem to be seeking not just our allotted fifteen minutes of fame but rather life eternal in whatever form or substance that we feel we are best suited to?
Having a heart attack, or a stroke for that matter, is surely natures way of saying to us, get a grip on things if you want to enjoy in the indulgence of life on Earth. That is to me exactly what life is all about, that Nature, the Universe, or the Creator has indulged our egotistical souls and allowed us to come down from wherever to play on this delightful planet. Like any game we ever play there will always be the time limit thing. Yes time, as in the second, minute and hour context is very much a human manifestation, but time whether it be clock bound or dictated to by seasons and Sun and Moon is an integral part of life in any form.
Is the continuation of life so important to some of us that are are willing to happily take on someone else's body parts so that we can continue on our own journey in search of perfect immortality. How can we honestly say that we are complete and perfect when we have borrowed parts from someone else's loss of human and Earthly life?
Are we so egotistical that we think we can remain here forever, and not sooner or later begin to be rather boring? Why are we so great that we can even think we deserve to be one of the immortal chosen few?
Immortality is seldom handed down to us in our human bodily form, yet it can so easily be achieved by words and deeds.
I would far rather live on in the minds of men for something I have done or said than be remembered simply because I have outlived millions of other souls that exist or have existed on Earth.

The Dalai Lama's visit to South Africa

How dare the esteemed leaders of South Africa refuse the Dalai Lama a visa to visit the country this month. They are not only insulting a great and well loved man but also every follower of his in South Africa. What happened to the freedom of religion that our constitution promises, why are some South Africans allowed to welcome their religious leaders, but others not?
To many people of diverse religious beliefs the Dalai Lama signifies peace throughout the planet and what harm could be done by his blessing South Africa with a visit?
When our government does things like this it only shows the world what a small and behind times third world country South Africa is. No country, no matter how great or small a world leader it may be has the right to dictate to another over religious matters. Are our leaders not brave enough to face up to the Chinese and say butt out of the running of our country and tend only to matters of politics or trade between your country and ours.
If our leaders want and expect the world to respect them and South Africa as being an active leader in the world then they should start behaving as first world leaders should and not allow themselves to be dictated too.

On the street where you live.

What to each of us does the street where we live mean? As we turn into our street what are our feelings? Home at last? The end of another day? Peace, comfort, tranquillity, safety, those good feelings and thoughts? Or do we feel unsettled, moody, this is the last place I want to be, frightened, jittery, as if we do not belong?
Each of us needs a safe harbour, a sanctuary, and as we turn the corner to go home we need to feel that here we are safe, here we are content and happy. We need to pull up at our driveway or gate and feel that this is our home and where we belong.
What made us decide to move into our street, what were the attractions and the reasons? Did we finally find our dream home, or were we compelled to move here due to financial or other reasons? Were our homes inherited by death or default? Why are our homes our homes, and are we happy on the street where we live.
Our street should be a part of our home, Neighbours should watch out for each other. In a strange and funny way everyone on our street is a part of our extended family. So often these days we tend to give a neighbour a wave or a quick hello and then carry on with our lives. Perhaps it is time to start taking an interest in each other, and to start watching out for each other, for all the children in the street, for each others pets and property.
We need to start caring more about our neighbourhoods and about the street where we live.

Getting the ball rolling

Is there ever a soul that is not in some way searching for that which will improve their life in some way or other? How often do we hear people wishing they could win the lotto, you know, the if only folk who sit back in their chairs and daydream about what they could be, if only.
They are usually the ones who do not take well to the changes that occur in their lives, they want all the good things to happen but are not willing to take those first few steps to get the ball rolling. If we want our lives to improve then it is up to us to decide that we have to face changes with the most positive attitudes imaginable. No matter how negative a change may seem at the time, it is up to us to search until we find that which is positive, or to turn things around in our favour until they become positive.
It is also necessary to look inside ourselves and see those negative aspects that we need to work on and change for the better. We cannot sit back and relax for a moment, life on Earth is so short and the more we can develop and change with our own personal growth the better it is for all.
Always remember that every action has a reaction and by seeking to develop ourselves through change we not only improve things for ourselves but often make life easier for others as well.
The curious mind that is always seeking and wanting change is the mind that not only develops itself but develops things around it to make life a lot easier and more in tune with the Universe.

A creature of habit, three cars called Annie One, Two and Three, and three special dogs called Lucy - Part three

The third Lucy came into my world very soon after Lucy Staffie. I had missed my faithful old companion and as a present Ray, my husband, took me to choose a puppy from a litter of Border collies. I think he felt that I needed a change from the usual short haired dogs I had always preferred. When I think back I often feel that fate led us down the road to fetch Lucy collie.
It was not a hard decision at all to choose her, she was the smallest in the litter and looked like she needed more love than the others. I immediately named her Lucy.
Lucy collie was an energetic, long legged galoopy puppy, always into everything and wanting to explore the world around her. She loved country life and would disappear by herself to explore over hill and dale without a care and would reappear whenever she felt hungry or lonely. She was brave and full of enthusiasm for all that she discovered on her expeditions around the farm. It was probably this sheer joy of adventure that nearly cost Lucy collie her life.
One Saturday evening when it was time to start locking up and checking on everything we noticed that Lucy collie had not returned to the house after her daily escapade. As it was getting dark we immediately started searching for her but in the end had to give up due to the poor light. The next morning as soon as we were up the search started again but by lunch time when there was still no sign of her we all began to think the worst, that our beautiful Lucy collie would perhaps not be coming home.
Later that afternoon as we were sitting on the back lawn we saw movement along the dirt road. It was Lucy Collie coming home, she was dragging herself along by her front legs as her entire rear end from the waist down had been shattered. Her pelvis and both legs were badly broken and it was obvious to see that the bones were broken in several places. Lucy collie had dragged herself home.
We phoned the vet and on telling him of her accident arranged to meet him at the veterinary hospital which was a fifteen minute drive away. How hard it was to pick up her broken body as gently as we were able and put her into to car. Not once did she cry but she managed to slowly wag her tail as if to say "I'm here Mom, I came home."
After a brief but thorough examination the vet looked up sadly and said to me that the best thing would be euthanasia, as poor Lucy had too many injuries. I thought for a minute and then asked him if there was any chance at all of saving her, his reply was there is always a chance but hers was very slim indeed. I made the decision to try and save my Lucy collie, if she had had the courage and strength to crawl back to me then I needed to do everything in my power to save her life.
Lucy was taken to the animal hospital at Onderstepoort near Pretoria and was operated on the next day. The vets placed seven pins down her right hip and leg and five pins on the left side. Lucy had made it through the operations and the first day of the long road ahead.
She spent three months at Onderstepoort and then another four at the veterinary hospital close to home. I would visit her as often as possible, and once she was closer to home I would go every day to feed her and take her for a tiny walk.
Day by day my Lucy collie got better and it was with such joy that finally we were allowed to take her home with dire warnings to be very careful with her and that although she had survived her accident we would be very lucky if she lived past the age of three, she was just over a year old then.
Lucy collie recovered remarkably and although she walked with a bit of a gait she could run short distances and join in games. In winters one could see that the pins got cold and so she did have some pain, however with keeping her in the house on cold nights and making sure she had bed and blankets she managed.
Birthdays came and went for Lucy collie and as she got older and her muzzle started turning grey so she enjoy sitting quietly with whoever was at home. She wanted and needed the extra company.
When the end came I felt it was as if she quietly lay down and let life slip away from her. I was sitting next to her on the floor and she opened her eyes looked at me and was gone.
Lucy collie was fourteen when she joined the other two Lucys in doggy heaven, another good friend had gone.
We never did find out how she had been injured but presumed she had gone onto the highway that bordered the farm and been hit by a car.

San Francesco d'Assisi - Italy

I may one day have another Lucy dog, she will have be be just as special as the first three to deserve their name.

A Creature of habit, three cars called Annie One, Two and Three and three special dogs called Lucy - Part Two

The next Lucy dog came to me in a rather special way, I had ordered a fox terrier puppy from the local SPCA and when I went to fetch him I happened to walk past the cages of the dogs that were waiting to be adopted. All the dogs stood up and came to greet me as I walked past them, each hoping that they would be the chosen one and I was their new Mommy. As I walked past one of the cages I thought it was empty but a casual glance showed me a Staffordshire terrier sitting at the back with a look on her face that said all hope had gone.
Suffice to say, the puppy was not the dog I took home that day, instead I adopted Lucy Staffie. This Lucy was a gentle, barrel shaped, brindle coloured lady. How she ended up at the SPCA I never did find out and I always felt that something awful had happened to her as she was rather timid and often looked afraid when in an unsure situation. Lucy Staffie fitted in well with the family and when we moved to a small farm in the country she seemed to come into her element.
Lucy became a gift giver of note, often on returning home, I would be presented with a dead bird placed proudly on the back doormat and Lucy sitting their wagging her tail at me and smiling as if to say, "look Mom I caught us lunch." I made a point of thanking her profusely and taking her inside to give her a treat and them disposing of the poor birds body while she was otherwise engaged. On especially lucky for me days there would be a dead snake, some of them small but others a good size, waiting ready for my enjoyment on the door step. On these occasions I sometimes found it a bit difficult to give the usual profound thanks but somehow did always manage to find the right words of gratitude for my faithful friend.
Farm life suited Lucy Staffie and she would love to amble along with us when we went for family walks along the dusty farm roads, she would wonder in and out of the fruit trees always making sure that she was with was within eye shot of her family members.
I would love to go walking alone with her as I found her to be a very good listener who never once even thought of interrupting my flow of thoughts and words, instead she would walk along beside me, almost touching, to let me know that no matter what she was always with me. These moments were very special, we were in our own time and space together, the two of us on a dirt road that was our private world.
We had to make sure that the animals were always dipped for ticks and when Lucy fell ill and was rushed to the veterinary clinic we were surprised to hear that she had tick bite fever. Our lovely lady did not come home with us, she went instead to doggy heaven to be with Lucy bulldog. The year was 1992.

to be continued

A creature of habit, three cars called Annie One, Two and Three, and three special dogs called Lucy - Part one

For some unknown reason when something is important to me it is always given a name, I therefore find myself with an electric mixer/mincer/juicer/whatever, that is named Patsy. This makes complete sense to me as it belonged to my mother and on inheriting it I named it after her. Then there is Jimmy the microwave, named after my father and Gladys the beautiful large serving plate that only comes out for celebrations and was named after a wonderful family friend from childhood days. There is Judith the DVD machine and Judy the canteen of cutlery, both named after one of my sisters.
My treasured computer is named Lovely Lady as, since she was a present from myself to myself, I could not exactly name her after anyone and I did not want to confuse her by giving my name over to her, perhaps I would have been the confused one, better meditate on this for a while.
I have owned three cars in my life and have named them Annie One (red VW Beetle), Annie Two (white Ford Meteor) and Annie Three (green Ford Lazer) still with me. I always felt that if they were to look after me and take me wherever I wanted to go I needed to give them a very gentle name so that they would look after me in a special way. I must admit it does seem to have worked, the three Annies have always been the most reliable of friends and have seen me safely to many different destinations and then home again, often on dark and rather unfriendly potholed roads.
My first Lucy dog was a champagne coloured English bulldog that my father gave me. She was named after a rather famous Lucy, the one from "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe". I chose that name because the Lucy in the book was so very open to believing in things like fauns, and tree people and marshwiggles and such creatures. As a child I had myself believed in them, actually I still do.
This Lucy was like a human child, she loved to play on slides, swings and roundabouts in the local park and was never afraid to chase away anyone she thought was abusing or overusing her playground equipment. She was protective and would follow her younger human sister around the yard to ensure safety at all times.
Lucy bulldog enjoyed car rides and when she saw a car door open always took it as an invitation for a ride, this worked fine with family and friends who would willingly take her for a ride around the block, but it absolutely terrified the two policemen who happened one hot day to stop to buy ice creams from the ice cream van at the precise moment that I had run quickly out of my yard, Lucy en tail to buy my daughter one. Lucy forgot the thought of ice cream and gaily climbed into the police vehicle and made herself comfortable on the back seat. I thought it was cute, the police thought their vehicle had been taken over by some vicious form of alien matter and refused to go near the car. I explained as politely as I possibly could that all my sweet dog needed and wanted was a nice ride around the block in a police car and weren't the officers there to assist the public. The police did not see things our way at all and demanded that I remove Lucy from the back seat forthwith. This was impossible to do as the car was a two door and I did not have the strength to climb in and carry one rather large bulldog lady out of it.
In the end Lucy won and the two fearful members of our protective services gave one sweet innocent bulldog several vitriolic glares, climbed into their car and dutifully drove a now happy dog around the block. On their return they both jumped out, relief showing clearly on their faces as they opened their doors in the hope that the slobbery monster, (their words), would now get out. Lucy was happy to daintily climb off the back seat and out the car, she thanked the police with an angelic, slobbery, drooling smile, (my words), turned around and with a neat wag of the bottom and not waiting for me, returned home. This was a girl who knew what she wanted and went for it.
Lucy bulldog went to doggy heaven thirty years ago, and I always remember her when I see nasturtiums as on hot summery days she would love to lie on the plants and pretend to be a nasturtium flower.

to be continued

Political spades and shovels proverbialised

Would it be unfair of me if I were to suggest that all politicians should be given a grand tour of their local hardware stores. There they would be shown what all gardening implements looked like and be given a full demonstration of all the uses including standing on the wrong end of a rake.
I suppose the thought behind all this is that if our political leaders are led by their noses back to grass root level and then built back up they might, in the end, be capable of really calling a spade a spade and not a you know whatever shovel.
We all know politicians are rather good at wielding the proverbial axe while they point dirty fingers at their opponents in the attempt to curry favour with the local voting constabulary, (yes we are meant to police our politicians and keep track of their track records). We are all a part of the political cog wheel, even if only a small part, and therefore do have the capabilities of sometimes putting a hammer into the works.
Yes I do realise that "too many cooks spoil the broth", but on the other side of the coin "many hands make light work", and since "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush", the most I can suggest to my fellow electorates is that we all keep our minds wide open and remember to judge past behaviours before we concede to believing the promises that are made to us today.

Grateful of my birthplace

I do not really consider myself to be a fussy eater, I do however have a few qualms about certain national dishes and am therefore rather happy that I was born here in Southern Africa and with a rather English upbringing and taste in food.
I often note that it is the Patron Saints day of one country or another and think myself ever so lucky that I do not have to indulge in haggis, or leek and potato pancakes, or some sort of offal that seems so often to be a favoured dish in many other countries. Yes I do understand that I may very well like these delectable delicacies, and I completely admit that it is the thought that counts totally here and nothing else. I must however decline as my mind is a lot stronger than my stomach and when it starts shouting no way then the best thing I can do for myself is keep my mouth tightly closed and head for the nearest exit.
I would have to think very carefully before I would consider living in another country as there are certain food items I dread ever having to stop indulging in. Things like cottage pie, and roast beef or chicken.
Here in Africa I am able to eat the foods I enjoy and easily refuse those I do not, such as biltong, (strips of dried meats), maize meal, porridge and chilli anything.
When I look around at other countries customs and staple foods then perhaps the United States would be the place for me to be. I love turkey, apple pie, pumpkin pie, root beer, biscuits, hot dogs, hamburgers and those huge big sandwiches that would feed a family.
Then I ask myself would it be a good thing to move to another country mainly because of the food that is available, the answer is yes, yes and yes again. I like food, I enjoy sharing food with others and I find food to be a very sociable commodity. We all have to eat so why not eat only that which we enjoy?
The choice as always is our own and I have decided that I do not really have to eat carrots or green beans, rosemary with lamb or anything else that I do not like and that is simply because I think they taste awful.

Devil Woman cake sure beats vegetables and steamed anything any day.

February, the month of love?

For the entire month of February I seem to have been embroiled in other peoples arguments and problems. I have never really minded being involved in things if I have been able to see some form of achievement or positivity at the end of the road. Somehow or other, blame it on the stars or the weather if you like, I find myself in the position of not seeing anything good or positive coming out of any of this verbal tub-thumping, and I am inclined to think that quite often these days peoples egos are of a far greater size than their brains.
I am finding more and more that folk are not listening to what is being said to them, instead they are busy thinking of what they will say next and so these half-hearted conversations seem to swing back and forth like some awful game of tennis that none of the spectators are enjoying and that each time the tennis ball is struck the face on the ball is that of the players opponent.
So as I vent off my frustrated feelings about life and people in general I must also add that speaking for myself, and me being the only person I can truly speak for, that my life as always is so good. I am busy working on something that is like a dream coming true and I am learning that I am my own master and that in fact I am only a servant unto myself, being that as I do things for me I am honouring myself in some way or other.
Then I have always believed that I am lucky in so many ways and that the Universe has blessed me.

What I do not like about football.

I never enjoy watching football games, I find the combination of players, coach's and managers quite disgusting. I do not have to watch grown men, supposedly respected, sitting on the side line or whatever they call it, chewing their gum like dairy cows out on a picnic for the day. Have they ever watched themselves in replays? Personally I request visitors to my home to put their gum in the bin on arrival, and then try to make a mental note not to ask them back.
Then there is all the jumping about and hugging each other, or the jumping about and swearing, (yes, I can lip read), when things are going well or not. Are these esteemed coach's and managers unable to express themselves in a verbal manner unless it is with the expletive? If so then what is their purpose in the coaching and managing of their team? I have to ask how does communication take place in the dressing room!
What about the players then, do they have to run around the field spewing phlegm in every direction for other players to pick up in which ever way possible, i.e. whatever part of their anatomy lands on the playing field. Did their parents never teach them that it is not nice to spit in public?
Is it also necessary for them to hold tightly onto their private parts when free kicks are allowed? Or, is this them trying to show the crowd their maleness in a not so discrete manner. Here my thoughts tend towards thinking that they believe they are lacking in this field and therefore their egos insist that there is some form of a joint and group show of the masculine.
Is this a man/football thing or do other sports men and women do it as well? As far as I can remember I cannot recall seeing any of these peculiar behavioural patterns when watching cricket or tennis or other sports.
I must also admit to the fact that sport has become so political I am seriously thinking of watching parliamentary debates instead as they seem to be a bit more of what sport aught to be about.

Window into my mind

Is my mind in a permanent state of poverty consciousness that it feels the need to hoard forever by drinking and eating (metaphorically) anything, that in any way, might be of interest or value in my future. Is this one enormous ego that feels it can and will hold onto any snippet of information, any new words or thoughts that may blow in through the window at any given time.


Why is my mind like some hungry Minotaur ploughing fitfully through the underground mazes of lost conscious thoughts that may somehow have survived the ages and now lie quietly waiting to be gobbled up and consumed in entirety.
What is this yearning that makes me feel empty and undernourished in my mind, so I get feelings of unworthiness if in some way I am not making an effort to improve how my brain is functioning? Why do I have such a blatant passion for dictionaries that I cannot go without having them near me, like a comforting blanket that seals in my sanity. I love their scent, their feel and most of all their contents and all that they hand over to me with each page that is turned.
I love looking for new words and reading and thinking about their meaning and as each one becomes clear to me so it becomes like a new friend, someone to hold close and to allow through my window and into the portals of my mind. A friend that for a while I do not want to share with anyone else, lest they should spoil this new relationship, poison my mind and forever break this bond that I have formed.
It is with words, spoken, read or sung, that I am able to loose consciousness of all physical feelings and so become one with words, one with the moment, and yet knowing that this moment is with me for eternity. Once found I cannot loose a word, or it's meaning, for they are kept safe in the archives of my mental beingness, they are one with me.
Should I have the desire to share "my" words with others the sharing is of that moment, but the words will always be mine. Admittedly we are all able to use any words that we want to, yet how each of us uses those words makes each word very different, by thought, pen or utterance we make words our own.
I hope that as time takes it's toll on the physical and the bells of old age grow louder that my mental faculties will stay tuned and the window ever open to allow new words to flutter in and rest peacefully in the corridors of my mind.

Another World

I have had such a glorious time with the planning and preparation of the Squirrel party, the enthusiasm from friends and family alike has been wonderful. We were all so excited as the party date got closer and with guests arriving from far and wide we were sure to have a great time.
Fruit had been preserved, baking aplenty done and the house seemed full of nuts and squirrel treats.
Hearts and souls were given to the occasion and each one of us looked forward to be able to, for a few short moments in time, forget the adult world and return to the land of talking animals and laughing children. The land of just being, the land where nothing ever goes wrong, the land where true fairy tales are made.
It was wonderful to see everyone relaxing enough to be able to laugh heartily at any witty joke or childhood memory of what was once very funny. Time and motion became as nothing as all were wrapped up in the pleasure of the now moment.
To me it was a wonderful party and I was glad of all those present on seen and unseen levels. Glad there were animals present, grateful for the twittering of birds, for the noise of the frogs calling and the gentle flapping of insect wings as they flew over our heads to view the treats stacked on the table.
Mostly, I was grateful to my as yet unknown squirrel friends for allowing me to hold a party in their honour, it was the squirrels that made the evening memorable as somehow their unseen spirits seemed to creep into ours and for a few short and precious moments we too were squirrels.

A Squirrel found

Packed away safely in tissue paper at the top of my cupboard I found my little friend.
I bought him in Venice and have kept him there with my other treasures until I can find the right place to show them off.
I think I will give him centre stage at the party.

Squirrel Appreciation Day

(Reserved for pictures of my squirrel friends)

I am a bunny/tree/anything that moves hugger, and so with great glee on finding out about "Squirrel Appreciation Day" on the 21st January, I have decided to hold a party in their honour. I would like to officially invite any local squirrels, but hate to admit that I do not have the pleasure of being an acquaintance of any squirrels here, or anywhere else for that matter. Something I will have to spend a lot of time sorting out this year, one never knows when one needs to borrow a cup of nuts from a friend or neighbour.


Never to worry, somehow I will manage to host a great party without the Guests of Honour. I have decided to have an afternoon tea party, served outside under our thatched entertainment area. The table settings will be white with small arrangements of colourful seasonal flowers.


I am limiting the human factor to 8, and would prefer the guests to be under 15 or over 80. Although I am not in those age brackets, I find so many people from 16 to 79 have lost that magical touch with animals and the mystical world of childish imaginations, they just do not understand!


So as not to offend any guests the entire menu will be vegetarian with emphasis on nuts, seeds and fruit. All spare time at the moment is being taken up with recipe hunting, the search is on for exotic, yet healthy, raw and cooked dishes that will delight the discerning palates of any squirrels that do manage to attend.

I shall definitely ask the grandchildren, I feel that with my good influence they will continue to choose to believe in whatever they want to, and for them at least the world will be a very interesting place. Obviously there will be a request for their parents to attend the jolly function with them. Invitations will also be sent to two card playing, fun loving, out of control friends. Should things get a bit slow, and the conversation lag at times, we could always play UNO or throw nuts at each other.
I will have to think very hard about the other human guests, not everyone mixes well with and talks to animals like we do.

Continuation - Father Christmas.

Kiger's apology

Dear Father Christmas,
I am very sorry I was such a naughty cat, I did not mean to be. I love you very much and will try to be a good boy from now on.
Love Kiger.

On the country road

I love driving through the country, going slowly, and with camera on the seat beside me. The road I usually travel on (to do the mundane things like shopping) is quiet and as I amble along in my car, hoping that the road is mine and mine alone, I have all the time in the world to stop at will and do my own thing.
There are always guineafowl along the roadside and they insist upon waiting until the last moment to cross right in front of the car. They do not look left or right, they just go, often with their little families of chicks running behind as fast as their little legs can go.
I see cattle and goats grazing quietly in the sunshine, being picky about what they eat. Butterflies float amongst the wayside flowers and rows of birds sit on telephone wires, watching and waiting for who knows what.
Suddenly a vehicle speeds past me and disturbs all of nature with it's rush of civilization. Slowly then, so very slowly, things settle and once again I continue on my happy way.
Is the modern life style really as great as we make it out to be? If so, why do so many of us escape, if only for a few hours, into the country where we can in peace recharge our bodies and souls?
I will always find something along a country road to lighten my load and make me smile. I cannot say the same for the city roads.


Life is short, but on a country road I always manage to stretch it to it's furthest limits.

Father Christmas

As far back as I can remember, my parents always told me that if I wanted nice presents from Father Christmas then I had to be good all year round. I recall reading that delightful little book Struwwelpeter, (if you can get yourself a copy it is a book worth reading), and totally believing every word about why it is so important for children to be good all year round.

I have continued over the years to read Struwwelpeter to children and grandchildren alike, in an attempt to get them to behave as children should all year round. In other words, be good and listen to what your Mother/Grandmother says in the hope that Father Christmas's fairies and elves, who are watching, can go back to the North Pole and tell Father Christmas that here truly are children that deserve the best.
I remember, as I grew up, Father Christmas was always very kind to me at Christmas. I still see Christmas stockings filled with nuts and fruit, and all sorts of lovely things as positive proof that I had been good and so had received what I truly deserved.



The joy of Christmas has never left me, I think it will always be my favourite day of the year. As my children grew up they too have taken on the excitement and pleasure that Christmas time brings. Even though they are both grown up with children of their own they still wake up early with the anticipation of what the dawn of this beautiful morning always brings.

We have always had pets and they too share the excitement with us, and please, do not doubt my word, they really do know there is a present under the tree for each of them as well. As the tree is put up each year all four-leggeds in the house are told about how important it is to be good all year round so that they too are remembered on this important celebration.

We are very lucky in that we have been blessed with fairly good children, human and otherwise, so with great glee every Christmas each of us has been able to open a gift from Father Christmas and receive something we really want.
That now brings me to this Christmas, that is Christmas 2008, we all opened our presents, there was the usual oohs and aahs as wrapping were thrown carelessly onto the floor and all faces were bright and cheery.
Shooter, the dog, really liked her new tennis balls and tug of war ropes. The humans really liked their presents too.

Then it came to grandchild, Kiger the cat, he loved his catnip mouse, and all the little furry toys he enjoys loosing around the house. As each toy came to light it was tossed around and tested for strength and enjoyment. The last thing he opened was a lovely Father Christmas attached to a long piece of elastic and a pole. This now was the greatest gift a cat could or would ever receive.
It is here, dear friends, that my problem came to light, Kiger totally abuses his Father Christmas, the poor man is dragged around the house by one leg, left out in the garden, pushed under the sofa, spat on and chewed. I cannot imagine what Father Christmas, the fairies and the elves think when they witness this sort of bad behaviour.

Therefore, and with baited breath I sit here on the 5th January and worry if Father Christmas will visit this house and it's occupants come December.