The inner world and workings of a woman's wallet

Most women can survive on a shipwrecked island for at least a week - okay, even a month or maybe more- solely on the contents of their purses/handbags/wallets. Or if the airline loses your luggage (as if this ever happens - lol!!) - no problem, the purse will provide you with the most basic of necessities. Between this and your carry-on suitcase, the holiday is half catered for.

Make-up, medication (most of the samples in my handbag are already expired, but what the heck and yes, I'm at that stage now where heartburn is the fifth wheel on my health wagon, but I'll be damned if I have to give up the odd hot-dog, the all-too-regular spaghetti napolitana, those beloved rice krispies bars - hang on, I have to get me one right now - and for good measure: rusks for breakfast, lunch and dinner-such a versatile snack), reading material (why is no one ever on time anymore?) , cell phone (which I'm always too late to answer), a scarf ( so versatile: to jazz up the ole outfit and why am I always cold?), band-aids (for that new pair of shoes that always remind you it maybe wasn't worth that fortune, even though you obviously bought them on sale...husbands always go for that one), a half-eaten chocolate bar or three (once again, why is no one ever on time - eating when frustrated) etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

A real treasure chest though, is my wallet. The one that's usually used for cash and credit cards. Supposed to be, I should rather say. Show me the woman for whom their wallet does not serve as a family album too - and a binder of sorts for all and any kinds of vouchers, coupons, gift cards, dry cleaning slips, old receipts and even the odd love note (can't a girl be sentimental?).

I am the only one who is properly trained to open said wallet, because the slightest opening in the wrong direction can cause a mishap bordering on a fatality. One needs both hands and all ten fingers in different positions, to keep everything and anything from falling out and getting lost or worse, for everyone else to see! It's not just a matter of opening it up and taking out the cash. There are a few hurdles to cross and navigate through before said cash compartment can be reached.

Problem is, this wallet can get so congested and filled to overflowing, that one usually loses track of its actual contents. That's when you "discover" the half-off, scrath-and-save, win-your-total-purchase, ten-percent-Tuesday and spouse-eats-for-free, just a day or week (or maybe month) too late! Hey, where must one find the time to sift through every piece of paper in this wallet?Too busy collecting more stamps and vouchers, I guess...It doesn't help that most wallets don't have alphabetical folders for all these savings-to-be-had.

Once in a while though, I actually do remember such discount coupon while in the store and standing at the cashier when she asks: "are you a member/are you on our mailing list for special coupons/do you collect rewards?". "Yes ma'am" is what I then answer back to her in those clear moments of remembrance of such dear discounts. Listen,  I like to save as much as the person next to me, and oh, how sweet it feels when that coupon is scanned and it shows a "minus" on the dollar amount you have to pay. And then of course they give you another coupon for next time - knowing you'll probably forget to use it anyway.

Of course I know that the store never ever loses out when you get a discount, but why would I pay more if I can pay less? Civil question. And, like I say, that once in a blue moon when you do get the benefit of a coupon: priceless!

Exercise - an update.

Today was the first day with a personal trainer. The do-it-yourself-at-home program did not prove to be too effective. Way too many distractions and too close to the refrigerator.

Lovely girl she was, this trainer. So genuinely concerned that I might have some blood pressure problems or something worse, since I wanted to faint after fifteen minutes of her regimen. The nausea rolled over me like a Hawaii-sized wave and I had to lie down too many times in order to prevent myself from going to the other side - if you catch my drift. Not even to mention the dizzyness. And yes, I had my Weetbix and muesli before the session but maybe it was eaten too close to such session, I realise now. The only problem I have, is not something remotely medical, but just a plain and simple case of being UNFIT! For way too long. It's just that I've been skinny most of my life and now I need to catch up to the fact that my body have indeed changed - not with my consent though.

Heaven knows how I got through the hour. When I asked her how much time we have left - sure that I had been suffering for at least 45 minutes -  she assured me that we're exacly half an hour into the workout. Maybe she got her watch from her grandmother or the battery needs a change because I'm sure time is not that slow.

I don't know how I got to my car, but once inside the car, I just sat there. Unaware of time or space. The watch in the car showed that 17 minutes have passed before I had the strength to actually start the car. This does not feel healthy. And it surely does not feel safe to drive in a condition like this. It would be safer to text and drive than to navigate a car after a workout like this. Never have I realised the need for speed control as I have today. Just the fact that I did not need to lift my leg for the gas pedal but only for the occasional brakes, got me through the traffic at all.

Skiing and golfing and the occasional biking and yoga did not proof to add anything to my physique after all. Not to mention the apres-ski and in my case even apres-golfing. A girl's gotta eat. It's just  that the shift is so big when one was used to always eat whatever one wanted without worrying about the after-effects and then one day it's gone. My size zero days gone and lost forever. A very faint memory. I'd' jump for joy at a size 4 at this stage. But just give me time. I've only just begun. Good thing I paid this trainer in advance...

The irony of it all was the fact that I had to stop by the car dealership on my way home since the bluetooth in the car was giving problems and I had to get it fixed right away. As from last week the fine for speaking on your cell phone or texting is a whopping $172 and all of a sudden my bluetooth didn't work - or the car's, rather. So when I apologised to the guy who helped me with the bluetooth dilemma for the state I was in, he commented: "good to have a healthy lifestyle". If he only knew...

My last stop before going home, was the grocery store, where I bought 2 apples, 2 bananas and 2 peaches. And sushi - just to make the transition easier.

I 'll keep ye posted. Happy running to you crazies out there!

Weather? What weather?

Everyone's obsessed with it. It's always a talking point in almost every conversation. Especially the akward, don't-know-you-that-well-yet, don't-know-what-else-to-say, trying-to-kill-some-time-here kind of conversations. Even I get trapped in this kind of small talk sometimes although I try my utmost best not to go there, but sometimes a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do - some people really just don't give you a choice...

The fact of the matter is: Mother Nature won't let herself be forecasted and be told how she is supposed to behave tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that as well. So she stays unpredictable - like most women do. And maybe this is where our fascination with the weather lies. I mean: don't even get a farmer started on this topic - they always want the exact opposite weather of whatever weather they're having. Regardless.

I've realised a long time ago that the weather will most probably not be the way it was predicted to be - especially here on the Prairies - so I just prepare for all kinds of weather, come what may. Always have a light jacket/blazer at hand in Summer (which for me is a no-brainer since I'm always cold either way - it takes a heat wave to get me to part with any piece of clothing) and in Winter always have a whole set of scarves, mittens coats etc. at hand - almost like "Joey" in the one "Friends" episode where he wore his whole closet at once, kind of thing.

I know some people who consider the hourly news bulletin not to be complete without first listening to the whole weather forecast in its entirety, even though it was exactly the same an hour earlier (and still it may turn out to be incorrect). Or those who look up the weather on a special website dedicated to it, up to three times or more a day, going as far ahead as a week in advance's forecast, only to find out that the forecast from yesterday, for the weather today, has since changed another three times. Very confusing, I know. And a total waste of time. Hence the extra outfits on the backseat of my car...Never trust the weatherman. And a few other types too...

Maybe in your neck of the woods the weather stays pretty much the same most of the time, but on my piece of real estate, the weather can throw you curveball after curveball. Like at this very moment, we're having the warmest days recorded for the past three months, even though Summer is officially over and it's actually already Fall (Autumn). Summer got lost this year, or just a tad bit late - like most brides for their own wedding.

But one thing that's for sure - Winter is a comin', and it's a comin' soon. Don't let the exceeding warm days fool you, otherwise the joke will be on you!

What's the use of today?

I saw it more than a month ago already - Christmas trees and decorations for sale. In August!! Like in the beginning of August! Ridiculous to say the least. Which got me thinking...

Why are we always living for something in the future instead of living for today? We are willing to prepare for an event still to come while often times we're not even prepared for today. Of course one should make provisions for the future, but that's not what I'm talking about here. We'd rather keep ourselves busy with something that's way off in the future rather than whatever is at hand, right here and now in the present.

Take for instance clothing stores. In the middle of Summer they unpack winter clothes and vice versa. Countless times have I been looking for a summer item like a white blouse or skirt on a scorching warm summer's day only to be told that only winter stock are now available - summer is sold out. So last season...

Why would I want to buy a parka with fur around the collar in the middle of Summer? For the same reason I won't be in the market for a bikini in Winter (unless I find a very tempting special to an island while there's 10 feet of snow outside, but I'm talking in general terms here of course).

We want to fast forward to Christmas, or New Year, or a birthday or wedding and when we get there we wonder what happened to yesterday - it went by so quickly?? Totally missed last week or last month because we were too busy planning for next month.

I am very much guilty of this very thing I'm talking about. In a lot of ways I still feel as if my life has not yet started. Waiting for it to take flight. To actually start living. There are so many things I have not yet experienced that makes me waiting and planning for when it actually happens. They say luck happens when opportunity meets preparation, but I've been prepared all my life (which means luck should be all around). Sitting at the train station waiting for the train to pull up. Or should I say the right train, cause certainly a few trains have come and gone already, but their destinations have not yet seem like the one I want to go to. And there's one train I've missed big time and I don't know if it will ever pull up to my station again. I guess one of the reasons I missed that train was because I was too busy planning for something else  and not realising the train has come...and gone. The one I should have been on. Wanted to step on too late. There might have been even more than one I missed. And now I'm still waiting - almost in a frozen state -  to see if it will pass me by again.

Half the fun I know is the actual journey and not necessarily the destination, but what about the actual starting point? Start by living in this moment you have now - today. Enjoy it - it's finally here.

So now that we have this little issue out of the way: who is getting married next so that I can start looking for a new dress? And before I forget: what do you want for Christmas?

It's not Spring - it's Autumn!

All over facebook last week, my friends have been commenting and celebrating the first day of Spring. As if they could even call their winter actually Winter...I guess when you're used to - 20 and -30 degrees Celsius, this is open for debate.

But nevertheless, I'll let them have their joy and happiness for the day. Who am I to be a party pooper and rain on their parade?

The thing is, their celebration of  Spring means my farewell to Summer. It just reminds me a wee bit too soon that another winter is on its way for Canada. Their Spring is my Autumn.

It was only last week that I started noticing the leaves starting to turn yellow around my house and on the golf course. Trying to distinguish between a falling leaf and a golf ball, can be quite challenging. The other signs of the season turning is the fact that I am taking along a light coat or cardigan more often than not when I go out and then also adding an extra blanket on the bed at night.

I do love Canada, but goodness me, the winters are loooooong! But without these winters, our summers wouldn't be as fabulous as they are. The super long days, the brightest greens I've ever seen, the temperatures during the days just right - the only downside though are the gazillions of mosquitos !!

Isn't it true though, that in life it's the same as in nature. One person's Spring can mean someone else's Autumn, and someone's Summer is another's Winter - figuratively speaking. In Afrikaans there is a saying : Die een se dood is the ander een se brood. One person's happiness can cause the next person pain and so on and so forth. You get my point.

So just remember when you're digging out your spring dresses and short shorts, that someone else is preparing to brace themselves for another long and dark winter. And by bracing, I mean: re-arranging closets, unpacking coats and turtlenecks, scarves and gloves, corduroy pants and wool skirts, tights and long socks, boots and blankets, duvets and cashmere...

On the other hand - let me try and stay positive, looking for the silver lining here - while you may be splashing in your swimming pool, I may be skiing down a snow covered slope!

But in the meantime I need to start raking all these leaves...

Till next time, spring bunnies!

Lines aren't just for "reading between"!

I am totally and utterly in love with my car! Everytime I see it or get into it - basically daily - I still can't believe that I get to drive this car. It's like seeing my first love - still gets me everytime, after all these years. Speechless at the sight of it... It's always the prettiest one in the parking lot, guys always stare at it and no one should even try to get to the next traffic light faster than this car can. But this is basically where the joy of driving stops for me.

My current fellow countrymen  - bless their hearts - don't know the first thing about driving. Seriously. And I get that it's not all their fault - blame the system I guess. I know in the bigger picture I'm now one of them - got the passport to prove it - but on this aspect I cannot associate  with them. They don't know the first thing about parking - to start with (traffic circles are the other mystery, along with changing lanes and backing out of a parking space). They couldn't care less about the white lines marking one parking space from the next. Has no meaning to them. And I'm not talking about the winter when all the lines are invisible as a result of the packed snow. I'm talking summer conditions here. It takes me forever to find a parking spot at the mall because everytime I think I see an open space, I only get there to find that it's unusable because the car next to this presumed "open" space is parked at a 45 degree angle just because its driver doesn't understand the concept of  "between the lines". Now I guess I can do with the extra mile I have to walk from the place I could find at last at the other end of the parking lot, but I have to restrain myself from writing notes to each and every one of these drivers and leave it in their windshield wipers with fake parking "fines"!

Any country who gives learner's permits to 14 year olds and probationary driver's licences at 16 years of age - to drive without an adult - should go back to the drawing board on this one.

To illustrate my point further, I would like to tell you about the time when I went for my drivers test here in Canada. When I moved here, I had to re-do my drivers licence - in writing and practical - although I've had a drivers licence for some years at that stage. Got the "no-claim-bonus" from Outsurance to prove it. I understood this requirement for re-testing since in Canada they drive on the other side of the road (which means I still go to the passenger seat more often than I would like to admit, expecting to find the steering wheel there...) and driving on these winter roads can be trreacherous.

I was so nervous though that day, that when the testing officer asked me to parallel park, I backed up OVER the sidewalk, uttered a few choice words when I realised I blew the test, and drove back to the licensing office knowing I would just have to come back another day to repeat the whole thing. But, hey no, I kid you not: I passed the test and got my licence that very day.

I mean, I knew I could drive based on the years I've had my license in South Africa (who is not an expert after passing K53...) and that it was only nerves that messed with my parking that day, but the guy testing me didn't know that! He thought my standard of driving was "A-ok" according to Canadian standards. That's why I'm so freaked out half the time when I drive around town, knowing that mostly everyone around me got their licences for basically only knowing where the ignition of the car is. Add to that the fact that the majority of people are either talking on their cell phones or texting while they drive!

I must admit that I am not up-to-date with the current requirements for a drivers licence in South Africa, but I always feel proud to know that our licensing standards - although it could be the only thing that is - are better than in Canada. At least in the "olden days" when I got mine...Having overloaded taxis with re-treads all around who consider the emergency lane as being the only lane, most traffic lights being out of order most of the time and being on red alert for potential hijackings as a way of life, just puts one in a different state of mind when behind a steering wheel.

Maybe I should start taking the bus since I'm on the car's horn (tooter - honk-honk) most of the time. It may therefore be possible that my fellow road users aren't staring at my fabulous car after all but rather at me behind the wheel, thinking to themselves: crazy b#*@h!

Exercise, anyone?

Why, oh why, is it so hard to get oneself to exercise? It's good for you - even better than peas and carrots combined. Eish, but I don't likey...I'd rather eat that plate of spinach, or go hungry altogether, than run or bike or step myself into a sweaty mess. But I also know that no amount of nuts or salad will do to your body that which a good work-out will. There's no way around it...

So it started this week when I decided to weigh myself after coming back from another holiday which always includes a lot of restaurant food and no time for exercise because of all the sightseeing, boat cruises, driving from town to city, booking in, checking out, packing, unpacking - totally exhausting!

The bathroom scale is one of those ornaments in the house that you don't display along with the glass vase from Venice or the miniature perfume bottles on the bathroom counter. So after locating it from underneath the layer of dust  - like I said : it does not form part of the dusting routine of other ornaments - I had to figure out how it actually works...electronic and all, this particular one.

It was not a pretty picture. Yes, I did not see figures on the scale but rather a boatload of chocolate bars, piled mile high, laughing at me from the tiny screen of this fancy-schmancy electronic scale. Of course this is untrue but it was my mind playing tricks with me - where in the world would you get a scale with cartoons, seriously. Although it would be a good idea to scare people right into a gym membership if the scale could stick out its tongue at you or roll its eyes at you. Now that would be something...

I immediately started a treasure hunt in my closet to find my yoga clothes - it's been a while since I've seen or used them. Alas I found them - they did not make it to the charity bin after all - and lo and behold, found a pair that still fits my current state. Tightly, but not bursting at the seams, yet...I figured that the only way I would start doing any of the moves they call "exercise" I need to be comfortable at all hours of the day, so that whenever I feel the need (like right after eating a cookie or watching the Food Channel) I can just fall down there and then and do a few sit-ups or squats or tummy rubs...

It's just so hard! And so boring. And it hurts. And makes you even hungrier. And grumpier. Which means I must do something wrong because everytime my husband finishes one of his marathon long runs on the treadmill, he tells me he feels GREAT - that exact word. Great. While he's breathing like an oxygen-deprived lab monkey - don't ask me what this means, I made it up - and gobbling down water like a camel in the Sahara desert, and gleaming with sweat like a cast member from "Jersey Shore". Maybe that's it: I don't like the "face" of exercise - it's not very becoming.

This change of pace and rationing of food has another downside for me. Another contributing factor to my sleeplessness: the growling noises from my stomach prevented me from falling asleep last night. Just lying there, listening, wondering if I should get up and read a magazine (which would inevitably have a food section and ads of perfect bodies in bikinis) or go to the computer to write this blog, or ignore my own body's needs for food in exchange for it's need to sleep, 'cause once I'm asleep, the torture will be over till tomorrow morning when the squatting and rationing starts all over again.

Well, eventually I fell asleep and now it's a new day. I'm here, sitting in my yoga gear (I'm a poet and I don't even know it) for what it's worth. A little stiff from yesterday's initiation squats. But I will not quit - not for the moment though, but I'll let you know, about my new glow, before the first snow in early No' (November, that is) - I'm trying to kill time here people...it's either this or the treadmill.

Till next time - happy running!

It's time for a king size bed...

It's not a matter of waning love. Or selfishness. Or a bad mood. It's simply a matter of sanity...because if I can't have a proper night's sleep, well, let's just say, someone may get hurt. It's usually not pretty.

For years I could wiggle my legs and arms this way or that way to try and find room somehow on the bed in order to get a proper night's sleep. I've even made peace with the seam of the mattress more times than not, even when I didn't go to bed mad. But lately I just can't handle my numb right arm anymore. The numbing feeling is starting to become more often and for prolonged periods of time since it serves as a cushiony pillow most of the night for some people...

The thing that made this whole situation unbearable lately, is the fact that I can't seem to fall asleep anymore. I really struggle and almost nightly still look at the alarm clock way after midnight. I've started surfing the web in the wee hours of the morning or read a book for which I can't find time during the day etc. But it's not supposed to be this way. I'm not a happy camper if I don't get my 8 hours of sleep, and me being grumpy is working against the benefit of all around me. Maybe if I can sort out my issues with Wee Willie Winkie, I would be more equipped to absorb this inconvenience.

What's holding me back though, is the fact that all the beds in the house currently, are queen size, which means that all my bedding are the same size as well. I therefor have quite a collection of sheets, duvets, comforters, pillow cases etc. made for queen size. Upgrading, or rather upsizing the mattress to king size would not only mean buying a new mattress, but also a bigger headboard, and base, and bedding, and maybe even new nightstands, and chest of drawers, and, and, and...We're talking a small fortune here.

All these factors make me rethink this whole new venture. At least I have a bed to sleep on, and someone next to me. Warm sheets. I'm otherwise healthy - apart from the stiff joints in the morning as a result of less than desirable limb positions during the night and grumpiness as a result of not enough sleep.

So I'm back to square one: should I rather spend the money on a holiday where the hotel room will have a king size bed??

A word of advice Kate...

If you tie your hair, you would actually have both hands to attend to your dress. Calgary is a windy place...

You must be kidding me!

It's happened again - like too many times before!

They've discontunued another one of my favourites. And this time it's a perfume. According to the lady behind the counter, it happened two years ago already - just like that. No warning, no survey, no reason I can think of that would justify this treacherous act - by my standards that is - just gone, forever. I usually have a spare bottle of all my perfumes but now that this special fragrance of mine has been running low, I started looking to buy the next bottle or two to last me the next year or two. Just to be told: it's been discontinued. I almost started to cry right there and then in the middle of the store. She must be mistaken, this salesperson, or misinformed, or mis-something. But alas, after asking at another store the next day, the salesperson dared to tell me that she's never even heard of that fragrance - how dare she! I'm at a loss without this fragrance - truly the most beloved smell I've ever known. And of course I have lots of other bottles of perfume, but none as close to my heart as this one. This smell has become part of my identity. The smell my husband knows me by, with which memories are called upon. That smell and I were one. And now it's gone.

Maybe I should phone Charlize Theron and ask her if she can't find me a bottle of this - she should have some contacts since she is the face of the perfume. And not the golden bottle - the SILVER one please.

The reason why this news was met with such an extreme reaction from me, is the fact that it was just one more thing I love, that disappears, with me not having any control or say over it. It's so sad that it's almost funny and my family is starting to joke about it even. Every dish I love in a restaurant gets taken off the menu sooner or later, depending on how much I love it. The more often I visit the restaurant and the more attached I get to the meal item, the higher the probability gets of the item being removed from the menu as if it never even existed.

I write e-mails, I beg them to bring back that specific meal item every time I go back there, I surf the web for the recipe, I cry and bemoan my fate to everone who takes the chance to listen to me, but no way - it's gone!! "Hardly anyone ordered it ma'am". But I ordered it you fool - every time I came here, and I couldn't have come every day of every week just so there would be a big enough demand in your estimation to keep the item there!!!

Why do they keep doing this?? What have I done wrong? Seriously. Who informed the "track-your-favourites-so-we-can-take-it-away" police to follow my every move? Because they sure are diligent in recalling everything I like. They know just who to contact in order to discontinue the restaurant items, potato chips, perfume, cooldrink, jackets (or blazers if you will) and whatever else I like. It's creepy crazy. Or do I have a singular taste, in that I am the only person on this planet earth, buying the things I do and that no one else shares my sentiment about certain things and therefor the demand is not big enough so the manufacturer/restauranteur has no choice but to quit production. The old principle of supply and demand which goes against everything I believe in. If I have great taste, why should I be penalised because not enough people catches on to my preferences?

I can almost replace each and every favourite thing in The Sound of Music song by the same name, with things that have been my favourites but no longer exists!

The other thing that bugs me is the fact that when I do find a thing I like - just before "they" stop production of that thing too, my size is ALWAYS the one that's sold out - at ALL the stores who carries this thing. You see what I mean? They have it in for me - big time. Just can't figure out why.

I'm at my wits end. I may just as well throw in the towel. What the heck - they're probably already tracking down the next thing to quietly tuck away in the vaults of  "favourite things never to be seen again".

Wear yourselves out people! I'm quitting!

Yes, I am a beaver!

The beaver is quite a prominent figure on many a thing in Canada - a national symbol. From money to flags, even my favourite beer, you name it, it's there.

It just so happens that the beaver can wreck quite a bit of havoc in springtime since they are constantly trying to block the flow of every creek and riverstream in order to build themselves a cosy home. This habit of theirs is the cause of many a flooding even in our little neighbourhood since we have a creek running through our subdivision. It became such a big problem that the County - our municipality - is still sending their people almost daily to come and have a look at our creek and break down any barriers built by these little creatures overnight.

Let me state it clearly: I am a much bigger fan of the beaver than the ant. The ant may be busy but the beaver even busier. And the ants wreck my garden, every flowerbed and piece of lawn are invaded by them - in their thousands, I may add! They are very low in my esteem at the moment. They're even eating away at my house's foundation since our house is built almost entirely with wood - how I do miss a brick house now... Don't see much use for them either. Seriously, what precisely are they doing or contributing to society or nature in general? They don't make honey like bees, or eat mice, or catch mosquitos (another one of nature's nuisances and annoyances) or control the balance of certain other species.

But the beaver is a different story. They have the cutest little faces. And I do admire their swimming abilities - you have to give it to them: with a body built like that...Although I do not quite condone their constant chomping off of trees. They should be rationed in this regard but until we can find a way to communicate with them in a way that would be constructive, I can't see this happening soon. But on the other hand, how should they otherwise keep those pearly whites of theirs, sharp?

Which brings me back to me. In this house, I am being called "the beaver". And it's not because I have prominent front teeth or because of my agility in water (which I don't have, by the way)...It's because I am constantly busy - building a home, chomping off trees, rearranging the wood, swimming to shore, collecting some more, attending to the family - all proverbially speaking of course.

What is it about us that we feel we must constantly attend to something. Not to be caught for even a second doing just nothing, or reading a book, or taking an afternoon nap, or sit on the deck for some much needed sun. Oh no, we have to keep moving! This still needs cleaning and that can be re-organised to look even neater, and those need some replenishing and before you know it, it's time to start with supper, but then you need an ingredient or two for such supper, so it's in the car, buy it, speeding back and on you go!

Maybe it's because of the enormous guilt of not having to work - at a salaried job - that I feel I have to work twice as hard during the day to earn this privilege of staying home. Not that it was a choice of my own choosing - life just turned out that way for me. I do admit of feeling a bit envious when seeing people in the rush hour to and from work, dressed and stressed, and excelling in what they do, but I am also quite aware of the trappings it also brings. I decide every day whether I want to dress up or down, wear make-up or not, and yes, sometimes I clean the house in a Calvin Klein dress! I am working, ain't I? But the boss of me, is I!

I just need to stop feeling as if someone is watching over my shoulder and keeping tabs of everything I've done today. Of giving report at the end of the day - or everytime my husband calls during the day - of every detail I've accomplished and what will still be done before the weekend comes. Although, in this job, the work never really stops - no business hours here. Over weekends the wheel keeps turning, the beaver still runs, or swim, to keep head above the water. To keep the nest intact.

"Ledigheid is die duiwel se oorkussing" has way too much leverage over us. And then comes Proverbs 6 that promps this beaver-like behaviour of mine even more when it says: 6:4 Permit no sleep to your eyes ¹⁴or slumber to your eyelids. And further  - 6:6 Go to the ant, you sluggard; ¹⁷observe its ways and be wise! continuing with - 6:9 How long, you sluggard, will you lie there? When will you rise from your sleep? ²⁰6:10 A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to relax, ²¹ 6:11 and your poverty will come like a robber, ²² and your need like an armed man. 

^{This weighs heavily on me, and my Calvinistic tendencies do not permit me either to put these thoughts on the back-burner, even for a little while. So I keep moving, fervently and sometimes annoyingly, ruining everyone else's peace and quiet. But I'm working on it - putting a task on hold here and there, but only until I drive past that creek again and see my namesake, the beaver, going at it at his usual pace...}

Where did Wee Willie Winkie go?

The sandman that is. The guy who is supposed to take you to the land of Nod. Who carries the fairy dust around. Do you now know whom I'm talking about? Klaasvakie for short.

Well, I have a problem with him. He has been short-changing me lately. Or skipped my house altogether on his  nightly rounds. Without sending me a notice that he will be taking a leave of absence. Or move to a different zip code. Or just telling me where he was the previous few months. Not a very considerate guy if you ask me.

He ignores some people deliberately if they had too much coffee before bedtime or ate too much. This I can understand - if nothing else, he is quite temperamental and sometimes just plain mean. Where I have a problem with him is when he stays away when I'm really tired or really worried. He refuses to knock on my door in these circumstances.Surely he has some issues he needs to deal with , but not on my watch please.

Little kids fight any form of sleep with all their might. The words they fear most at night, are: it's time to go to bed. As adults we long for that extra hour of sleep and consider it a luxury to be in bed before 23h00. It's a constant battle in this house to actually go to bed. My husband always has one more piece of work to do, one more program to watch, one more article to read, or one more cup of coffee to drink. Me, I can go to bed right after supper, I don't care about the heartburn or the fact that the moon is not yet out. There are antacids and curtains for those things.

I am just so damn cranky when I don't get my 8 hours of sleep and therefor in awe of people who can function on 4 hours of sleep per night. Or am I really? I just not quite believe them if they say how effective they are and that if they sleep more than this they will not get everything done. I get it that life is short, but my friend, I'm sad to say, but it is going to catch up with you, and not in a nice way. You get out what you put in, and if you keep depriving that work horse of a body you have now, it's going to ask for payback sooner or later and usually not in a fun way.

Our minds move at warp speeds during the day (it takes quite a bit from you to make plans on how to change the world and everyone else around you...) and would it be so interesting to know how many thoughts run through this hard drive each day. If I feel wiped out at the end of the day, I can't even imagine about you guys who actually have a real job - it must be quite a party in there. It's precisely because I think too much that I just can't seem to find the "off" switch when I lie down at night, and this is where my battle with WWW - yeah, that guy - starts. Isn't he suppose to help us - not to make it even harder than it already is, right?

Ecclesiastes 5 says: "The sleep of a labouring man is sweet, whether he eat little or much: but the abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep". Am I just not pulling my weight enough each day? Will I sleep better if I shop even more and run quicker from store to store? Vacuum the house at a faster pace? Peel the potatoes with more enthusiasm. Organise my closet more often.  I'll have to make some changes. It seems that my best efforts have not been good enough to earn a good night's sleep and get the attention of Winkie that I so desperately need - somehow doesn't measure up.

 Maybe I should start cutting back on the excessive thinking and worrying, and then some more thinking and worrying: about the state of the world and my soul, the plight of others less fortunate than me, the safety of my loved ones. Then at the same time feeling the guilt of lying in a warm bed with a stomach so full that the 2 pillows and 3 antacids don't even counter the heartburn one teeny bit, then counting my blessings,  and so on and so forth. Staying busy while waiting for Winkie. Don't dare to waste a minute on doing nothing.

So whether you want to call it beauty sleep, or restoration of mind, body and soul or an inconvenient interruption of a perfect day, don't short change your own health to prove to others that you're somehow superhuman and doesn't need as much sleep as us mere mortals down here. You're not, my friend. We're all cut from the same cloth, so I'm saying this to you just once: "It's time to go to bed now!"

Are you a realist or just a plain pain in the ass?

What is more annoying than being around someone who ALWAYS see the worst in any situation and in anything? You're right - nothing!

I'm sure you must know someone who always sees the glass as half empty, or dirty, or made of unsafe materials, or heaven forbid, cracked or stolen. Feel free to fill in any bad thing you can think off associated with something as simple as a glass. Now imagine this scenario with EVERY little thing you encounter on a daily basis. Joy killers, they are.

These types always expect the worst thing to happen - and act almost satisfied if it indeed happens as they predicted it would be and almost a tiny bit disappointed if it doesn't. Something bad is always imminent to happen according to these types but for the most part it never does. Now of course I know everything in life involves some kind of risk, but I am of the school who argues that I will deal with the worst WHEN and IF that ever happens - not a moment too soon. Of course one has to have a plan and be responsible and take precautions where needed and blah-blah-blah, but for goodness sake, just lighten up a little, will you? Life is way too short to make provision for each and every scenario whether it's going to happen or not. I've got things to do and places to see and shops to visit and laundry to do. I cannot sit around making plans for your every fear.

These types don't want to leave the house for fear that the house may burn down in their absence or a pipe will burst or any number of disasters you can name. They don't want to eat by candlelight for fear that the smoke alarm will be triggered. They don't want to try a new restaurant because of the remote possibility that it may not have a good chef. Or go on holiday in June since there's an odd chance of a hurricane then. Or take up golf in the event that they may not be good at it or worse even, start liking it too much. The list can just go on ad infinitum.

Let me tell you, I do not have the imagination these types have to think up all the reasons and causes for which things can go wrong and how, and it's the kind of imagination I'm glad I'm lacking.

The saying goes: if you're not living on the edge you're taking up too much space. And by this I don't say I am the most adventurous person out there - I'm not, but I am also not going to confine myself to the "known", the "predictable" and the "safe". One limits oneself too much already as it is and don't need any more reasons not to do something.

I've just finished watching a docu-series by Shania Twain titled "Why not?" in which she questions what to do and what not. She says one always has to ask the question Why? or why not?  and the trick is to know which one to ask when.

I may not be the one to preach on this topic since I am mostly the one who needs preaching TO, but like they say: don't do as I do, but rather do as I say.

So my question really is: when are you a realist and when are you just a plain pessimist? You decide.

Imagine a world without cell phones...

Hi-ho, hi-ho, is off with the laundry I go...

Abba's "Dancing Queen" works just as well when replacing these famous lyrics with "Sta Soft queen", the latter of which my sister is convinced I am. And this may very well be true.

My Mom always had someone helping her in the house when we were growing up. I therefore did not do as many chores in the house as I otherwise would have. Even so I had a very attentive eye and always hung around the house watching my Mom do things or explaining how something should be done and why. Good thing I took mental notes since years later I moved to Canada and now I was on my own - in every sense of the word. If I didn't do something myself, it just would not get done - there was no one to help me with no nothing. Ziltch. Nada.

It took me a good few years to find my rhythm, but boy, do I now have the beat. This house is run like a military operation with German precision. My husband will testify to this - loudly and annoyingly. If he dares to leave a piece of clothing just a little too long in one spot, it's in the washing machine, then the dryer, on the ironing board and back in the closet or drawer in no time. He now begs me not to wash certain items and specifically show me said pieces since he uses some for running or gardening or whatever and like some of these items not as brilliantly clean as the rest. He wants some mileage out of some of them...I guess it's a male thing. But on the other hand he proclaims very proudly if he's worn a certain pair of trousers more than once, saying: "see, I save you a ton of laundry". Usually these are pieces that don't even need ironing even if I wash them and therefore it's no trouble washing them in the first place, but he feels he makes his contribution. Thank you dear!

I'm one cleaning machine and can't stand a full basket of dirty laundry, therefor it never gets full since my washing machine is doing at least one load a day. When talking to my family on Skype I almost without exception have to stop them in the middle of the conversation to run to the washing machine to add some Sta Soft (fabric softener). My machine is not like the fancy ones where you can add everything at the beginning of the cycle. My husband constantly wants to replace each and every appliance in the house but I say, don't fix something if it ain't broken.

When we come back from any holiday, whether the trip was a weekend long or 2 weeks, the clothes no sooner left the suitcase than it lands in the laundry room. From there I work my way down until the last piece of holiday wardrobe is done and dusted - ready to go on the next trip. You would never guess we were away at all if I didn't tell you I just came back.

I can only be mad at myself when I ruin one of my beloved blouses or jerseys - yes Mom I know you told me to wash that thing by hand, but I took my chances with the machine... - and I always know exactly where I put everything. No treasure hunts to see where something was put away this time! I know when to buy new cleaning supplies and which one works better than the other. All the small joys in life - they're all mine and I don't have to share my detergent with nobody else. No missing socks in this house either - I kid you not - miracles never cease to happen. I know this may very well change once there's children around the house, but until then I'm queen in my own house - even if it's only the Sta Soft queen.

There's a specific system as to what gets washed when and with what. Very complex indeed and it will be impossible to explain such procedures to anyone so I won't even attempt to do so here. Just trust me when I say that I am the only person for the job. No competition here.

I know it sounds like some kind of obsession - and here I ask you again: why do you say it like it's a bad thing? - but somehow by being so on top of my laundry, gives me a sense of order and control which I don't always have in all aspects of my life. At least I decide when I will do my laundry and how and then I do it exactly as I pretty please to. One doesn't choose where one lives but one can surely choose which day of the week will be laundry day - and in my case it's almost every day!

Knock-the- door- down delicious!

Julie Andrews might have had a few favourite things as Maria in "The Sound of Music" and she even included a delicacy or two in there, but if I had to sing that song myself, it would pretty much be a list of food, food and more food (hence the problem with my closet, remember?)

I am not the world's best chef, but I love cooking nonetheless (homemade puff pastry still scare me and should be left to the professionals along with a few other techniques) . What I love more than cooking though, is the eating part. The smell of something that's freshly baked. A simple dish that's presented so exquisitely you're hesitant to eat it because you don't want to ruin the beauty of it. The memory of your grandmother's meals when you were little. Baking cupcakes with your Mom  - flour everywhere. The conversations around the table. That's what remains long after the meal is gone.

Almost every occasion in life is celebrated with and around food. Weddings, birthdays, Christmas and even funerals. Even recalling a trip or holiday is linked with what you had to eat while there. The bockwurst in Germany, tortillas in Mexico and pizza in Italy. I always hear people say: I had the best so-and-so when telling me of a place they've been. My sister plans her holidays around restaurants she's read about or seen on TV. She even has a journal which goes with her when she travels in which she documents the names of places she's eaten at, the things she ate etc.

I'm not one to follow a recipe religiously, but I need to read through a few and buy a cookbook from time to time to find new inspiration and then change it up as I start cooking, depending on what ingredients I have in the pantry at that moment. One tends to become stale in the kitchen when time is limited and the family liked something the previous time, so why not make it every week...

One of the staples and regulars in my kitchen is a dish I stumbled upon by pure experimentation - no recipe required here. There's a certain salad dressing I always buy at Costco. Since I ran out of my South African mayonnaise and chutney which I usually used for my chicken dish, I decided to pour this salad dressing over  it , put it in the oven for a long time, and see what happens. It's the tangy-ist sauce and fingerlickin' good too! My whole family now asks for a bottle of this sauce when I go visit them. See, it's not always necessary to follow a complicated recipe with 15 ingredients in order to qualify for a tasty meal, but sometimes the extra effort pays off.

Needless to say, right after I've seen the movie "Julie & Julia" I was so motivated to start something new and bought the original Julia Child's cookbook. You need both hands to handle this baby. My brother just loves my impression of Julia saying :"bon appetit!". But I won't do it outside the family circle - sorry! I do admit that after trying a few recipes from this book, I've gone back to less complicated ones with a lot of photo's. When I'm grown-up one day I'll try it again. It just makes no sense in spending hours on something when you're only two people around the table of which the one does not care whether the meal consists of a slice of toast and apricot jam...

There's a few chefs I follow on the Food Channel but they do tend to forget that half the ingredients are just not available where most people live. And they don't fool me in pretending all is as easy as they make it out te be. I know they have at least 5 assitants or more helping them out. And if you do the ingredient shopping and cleaning up afterwards FOR me I will also cook the way they do!! And the cooking times they give for their meals - trust me, no stove is that fast!! And chicken takes double the amount of time they make it out to be - as well as potatoes!!

To me there is no better comfort food than "pap en sous" (corn meal porridge - much like polenta - with a tomato and onion relish). And of course a big bowl of pasta. Or mashed potato! I'm so easy to please... For me it's all about the sauce/gravy. I'll even eat tripe/afval just for the curry sauce. With most stews/casseroles, I opt out of the meat which is the main ingredient in said dishes, and go straight for the sauce.

You know the joys a simple slice of freshly baked bread topped with butter, can bring. For some it's peanut butter and jelly, for others it's bread dipped in gravy, whatever floats your boat. I'll give up a steak in a heartbeat if there's anything remotely Mediterranean on the menu. You can propose to me with a platter of grilled peppers, aubergine, zucchini and caramellised onion. Or a bowl of steaming hot minestrone soup. I'll say "yes" in a New York minute even before you show me the ring...

There is no other room in the house that is quite as cozy and comforting as the kitchen. This is where the best conversations take place and where many a heartache is mended and problems solved -  coupled with a good bite to eat (but don't underestimate the benefits of a stiff drink - my uncle likes to tell us how my aunt fixes a "mean" whiskey - but I'm not naming names...).

Few things come in as handy as leftovers at midnight. This was a real problem in our house when my brother was in his teenage years. He would eat anything if it stood still long enough. My Mom would still think she has something on hand to feed us the next day, only to find that my brother cleared it all the night before. Their bones are hollow at that age and no amount of food can adequately fill them up long enough to last till the next meal.

I'm getting to a point where I'm starting to accept my new dress size only because I am just not determined enough to let go off my favourite things to eat. As long as I have the closet space I'll add that extra dollop of butter to the mashed potatoes and that tad of extra cream to the sauce. What the heck - life is short!!

Beef or chicken?

We've just returned from holiday and this is why I am, for the moment, vowing not to fly any time soon unless it is totally and absolutely necessary and no trains are going that direction. A ship I do not even want to attempt and any trip by car lasting more than 5 hours I'm not interested in either.

My husband also reckons that I should not fly anymore since I am gradually becoming more freaked out each time the pilot starts to descend for a landing. I'm hanging horizontally over him and the next seat, making unsettling noises and saying my "goodbyes" just for in case...totally terrified of the landing, which I every time assume is going to be a disaster.

Next thing: can they make the legroom any smaller than it already is? Because they sure are trying. Really. And I can't figure why they have the option of reclining one's seat, since the difference between the "upright" position and the "reclining" posistion is about less than none. They're just screwing with your head...

One also has to have gymnastical skills to be able to close the airplane toilet door. Stand on the toilet seat first and then lock it? Standing room only in there. I think the Women's Liberation Movement should take up this matter with the airlines since the "washroom" is definitely not designed with women in mind. That's why I don't drink a drop when flying and are thus totally dehydrated and looking exactly like my passport photo upon arrival. Highly unhealthy and unadvisable! Do not try this at home...

I was thinking that maybe they should just take out ALL the seats in the plane and let each passenger bring their own blanket and let's camp out there on the floor. You bring your own snack - nothing is for free on the plane either way and the 2 minute noodles they do sell aboard is doing no one sitiing next to the person eating it, any favours. "Cookies or Bits and Bites" (it's a pretzel kind of snack) replaced the catch phrase "chicken or beef" - never thought we would miss those days.

An air hostess in the previous decade, was one of the most stylish and sophisticated types. No wonder they all married sheiks and billionaires they met on the plane. Don't think this happens anymore...not at the look of things if you know what I mean. They're more like a teacher or school principal. Of course there's still the odd exception here or there - I just haven't seen any lately.

In the early days of air travel, flying was such a sophisticated affair. Everyone was dressed in their Sunday best when boarding a plane. Woman wore hats and dresses. Men wore suits and ties. And top hat. I don't say we should go back THAT far, but honestly, do you really need to wear an outfit which hasn't seen the washing machine since Christmas - not quite sure how many Christmases ago though? And since when did washing one's hair become only a monthly occurence?

Orson Welles summed it up like this: There are only two emotions in a plane:  boredom and terror.  Well surely he travelled before one could watch satellite TV and movies on demand but he's quite right about the terror part. Like the guy who said that he's not afraid of flying, but only of falling! If it's not the terror of taking off and landing, it's the terror of sitting near the mom who forgot about her birth control and now have 4 kids under the age of 5. Or the guy without laundry detergent at home, or shampoo, as mentioned before. Or the person ordering the instant noodle mix...and so on and so forth.

Airports are just as terrifying to me. If you want to know how much food and souvenirs and some other unnecessaries are going to cost in about 5 years' time - then buy it at an airport store/restaurant now. I am still toying with the idea of starting a chain of hair salons at airports - way more needed than the soft toy kiosk or Hermes scarf store.

Then there's everyone's favourite: going through security! Nowadays it's something just a little short of stripping down naked. Everytime I fly, the scanner picks up something on me, everytime I get pulled aside to be patted down, and everytime they find no bombs attached to my body. They want you to take off your shoes also but the floor you then have to walk on is so dirty that you fear you're going to pick up something for which no modern medicine would have a cure for.

If only there was another mode of transport altogether between continents...but until then I'm staying put for a while - at home.

Until I see the next special going to the Bahamas!!

"My heart is Africa"

I read this book by Griffin quite a few years ago being given to me by the estate agent who sold us our house - for the commission he earned he could have sent me a book every month of the year for the next decade...

The story I don't recall so well anymore, but the title is one I hear myself saying quite often in conversations and my daily thoughts. I have dual citizenship but often wonder that if my body is here and my heart is there, then where am I? I have a fridge magnet that says: "If something is neither here nor there, then where the hell is it?". I feel like this sometimes. Like my house is here but my home is there.

When I think of Africa, I think of textures and colours. Vibrant, rough, woven and bright. Durable and resistant - to life and the weather. My life at present though is more like a piece of silk with no distinct colour at all. The one colour flowing into the next unnoticed. Smooth and light. When putting an outfit together one usually mixes several pieces to form the ensemble, but some elements just never quite go together. Like boots with an evening gown.

Life is good where I am right now. But is it great? I am well looked after and cared for. I feel safe and secure. This place offers me so much that I dare not complain for a moment.

But if I could have a moment to pause, what will I think of? The open plains, the smell of grass, the need and want of the people there, the smiles and sadness, and always the comfort of someone you know - and who knows YOU. Who recognise who you are and why, without explaining the how. A place you belong. Of not feeling as if you're standing on the outside looking in. Of being a part of the circle and not beyond.

Or will I , in that moment, only think of a world with little cares and compassion, where all is taken care of. The land of plenty and prosperity. Where comfort is a given and living is easy. Where the texture of life is mostly absent.

Life has a different meaning in Africa than for instance in the western world. Life on the African continent is harsh and is so precious since it is a gift that can be taken away at any moment.  It has to be lived to the fullest extent in every moment and appreciated on purpose. It's but one breath at a time. A place filled with contrasts and contradictions.

Africa is such a world away from here but in my mind I'm always there. Which makes me more absent here than I should be. I owe this place a piece of me too. I'm like a tree who refuses to grow roots in the place it is forced to grow and longs to be brought back to the land where it first sprung. But being replanted too many a time is not ideal and risks the chance of never growing again.

Should I go back, or stay? Can I stretch myself so as to have a foot in both places at the same time? Something's gotta give but I'm not sure yet what that will be...

A woman without a country

I was never one of those who dreamed of living in a land far far away - like where Shrek lives...

But then I grew up, and I got married, and my husband decided to move to Canada. And then it all began.

I visited South Africa as often as I could - although I am the worst air traveller you've ever come across. I am a nightmare even to myself while in an airplane, airport, in transit, through customs, at baggage claim, even on my way to the airport I am no fun. My point is, my husband did not always accompany me - he does not share my love for the country (yes, he was also born in the RSA, but you would never be able to tell this if you didn't know better- he was even born on a farm there, and maybe this is why he does not share my sentiment). The other reason why he didn't always make the trip with me is the inconvenience of having a job. Just a joke - relax, but yes, he had to work mostly always.

I managed to accumulate enough "indoor" days somehow to become a permanent resident of Canada - the step before you can apply for Canadian citizenship. This was already marvelous enough for me but it meant that I still had to travel with my South African passport which usually meant I had to apply for visas whenever we wanted to travel to Europe, and mostly everywhere else. Thank goodness for a 10 year US visa I had because we travel quite frequently to Las Vegas since it is the shortest trip from our home to get some real sun. Why else would you think I go there? Applying for a visa is quite inconvenient if you apply from a country other than your country of birth.

As a result of my travels to the southern tip of Africa, my husband qualified for Canadian citizenship long before I did. I was always a few months short of the required number of days spent IN Canada to qualify for this. After accumulating said days and mailing your application, it takes at least another year for the process to be completed.

Opting for a sun filled holiday (and skipping Las Vegas this time) we boarded the plane for Mexico, like we've done so many times before, with passport in hand as well as my Canadian permanent resident card. My husband, the Canadian citizen by now, is travelling with his Canadian passport. And off we go.

Arriving in Mexico, we stand in line in customs, already seeing the mojito and margarita waiting for us at the hotel. Not so fast, the customs official says, you are travelling with expired passport senorita, please come with me. My husband utters a few choice words to me for not being more diligent in the task of keeping my passport valid. I mean, how many times do you check your passport expiration date - not even the girl at the airport checking me in, realised this calamity, and it's her job! I'm just an innocent bystander...While waiting for a supervisor to decide my fate, we are bracing ourselves to be deported and to catch the same airplane back from where we just came. I would have thought after so many visits to Mexico that I can almost qualify for Mexican citizenship too. I should look into this...

Long story short, the Mexican government doesn't view me as a threat after all and are so kind to let me enjoy their beaches and drinks for the week. For the next few days of my holiday I wonder if Canada will be this lenient and let me back into their country without a passport. I figure that an expired passport is as good as no passport to them and hope that they will keep in mind that I am now married to a Canadian citizen after all.

Anyway, I was let back into Canada - thank heavens I was a permanent resident otherwise I really don't know where I would be today. Maybe working the beaches of Mexico serving drinks and earning tax free tips having a marvelous golden skin colour.

My next problem was to apply for a new South African passport from within Canada. So at this stage I can't even enter South Africa! Go figure! I can't go out and I can't get in either. My dad has a birthday coming up and they have a family trip planned for all of us when I come all the way from Canada for this occasion, but no, it will have to be cancelled. In the end my Mom and sister come and visit me for my Dad's birthday and he stays home. Some birthday he had...I feel so bad!

It then dawned on me: I am a woman without a country.

Things have changed since then. Three months after receiving my new South African passport, I became a Canadian citizen, and although I am now a citizen of both, with two passports, I still feel like a woman without a country most days...

Are you sure you work here?

So here's the thing: I go to the shops quite a bit so I do know my stores pretty well. I do have my favorites. Something you're supposedly not encouraged  to do with your children (having favourites, that is) - as if that ever happens...

At my favourite stores I know exactly what's where and if something was moved in the store since my last visit. Even if things were moved around I would still find something I saw a few weeks ago or be able to describe to the shop assistant exactly where I saw it, what hanged next to the thing I am now looking for and can't find all of a sudden (and how dare they move it without asking /phoning me, I almost ask out loud?).

Then there is the item you want to buy since the store is advertising that specific item on TV, newspapers, flyers, you name it, but as soon as you ask about such item after making the trip specifically for that purpose, the reaction of the shop assistant is the same as when I ask the questions mentioned in the previous paragraph: "I don't know exactly what you're looking for (although I am armed with a clip-out of said item from their brochure - I come prepared, people) or " I don't think we have that yet". This reply stays the same for a few weeks until a month later when it changes to "I think it's sold out/you must have just missed it" or something similar which makes you regret that you did not put that shot of bourbon in your morning coffee - you mistakenly thought you would not be needing it today but you were so wrong about how this day was going to turn out. Worst than this though is when they tell you that item is NOT in the store and then you find that thing not even two shelves further!!! I know you think I should get a life, but until that happens, this is my life and I'm trying to deal with it. So stay with me, will you?

It just does not make any sense to me that if your job is being an assistant in shop A, and you spend about 7 hours, give or take, EVERY day (or at least 5 of the 7 days in a week) in shop A, how come you still don't know what that store has to offer, offered in the past month or so, or will offer in the next week or two - it's already in the flyer, isn't it? If I had to spend that many hours in one place, I would surely know every square inch of the place - who am I kidding, I know it without even working there - and I'm not even talking just about my favourite stores here. I will tell you what you can find where in a town in Mexico I visited 4 years ago or a village in Europe I passed through a decade ago...Does this count as a "talent" as such? Maybe, 'cause I still need to find a passionate an assistant as I am a customer.

Am I expecting too much from my shopping experience? Do I set the bar too high? And don't say it like it's a bad thing! Does this happen because people nowadays view their jobs as just being a job and somehow forget that if you can't find the joy in what you're doing, then don't do it. But I know times are tough and one does not always find the job of your dreams or your workplace does not exactly make you jump for joy, but try and make the most of the one you have at least. I'd also rather be a stylist to the Hollywood stars (do they even look in the mirror when they go out the way they do? I can dress better from the Mr Price catalogue than they do with all that money) but that's not gonna happen as long as I live where I do. Some days I feel as if I will do any job other than tending ever so lovingly to the laundry, but then I realise that I might as well do it with excellence while I'm at it, because it makes it a whole lot more bearable than doing it grumpy.

Whose clothes are hanging in my closet?

I do love clothes. There, I said it: loud and clear.

There's no way around it and I do admit that my closet is way too big. And with closet I mean every closet in every room in the house has some of my clothes in it. And the furnace/utility room has some of my clothes too (each house in Canada has one of these in the basement where all the water tanks, furnace - which keeps the house warm in winter - sump pumps, etc. are housed). What can I say: Canada has very cold winters and it lasts a very long time too, and coats take up a lot of space...and for coats one needs quite a few pairs of boots, which take up more space than shoes. You see my problem?

Over the years though, and more so over the past year, one's body changes and it changes so gradually that your clothes realise it long before YOU do. It starts out with buying one size bigger than what you bought before because your usual size is just a tad too tight but the bigger size is still a tad too loose. Then one day you put on that bigger size and it fits perfectly all of a sudden. And then you realise your perfect pair of jeans just doesn't fit so perfect anymore and now the "bigger" size becomes your "usual" size and panic sets in!!!

You lie awake at night trying to figure out where things went wrong. You get up out of bed because you're just lying there anyway, and go to the refrigerator to get something to eat in order to help you think better on the problem at hand. Who can think on an empty stomach I ask of you?

The family comes to visit and they start to comment on the astonishingly big portions of the meals they encounter in restaurants here and ultimately , in your kitchen too. They ask if you invited other people over for dinner because it looks like you've cooked for an army. And suddenly you realise: It's happened! I have Americanised my lifestyle, down to the portions of my food. My eyes are blind to the enormity of it all. What I thought to be a humongous (is there even such a word?) portion when I moved here, has now become the standard size. Whether portions here are so big because they claim to give you value for money or whether this is a society which is so accustomed to abundance and excess and availability that they no longer realise that a family in China (now they know what healthy eating is) can eat from the plate of one person's meal here and there will still be food left - either way it's messing with my clothes.

As a child of Africa, I've seen poverty, starvation and need. I was therefore taught from early on to eat everything on my plate and to always think of the ones less fortunate than I am and on those who does not have what I take for granted. In Canada though, people in need is not  an everyday sighting and therefor it becomes harder to remind oneself how so many others live. So what do I do? I'll tell you: I eat the food which otherwise would have been destined for the bin - rather be fat than going for the other option.I don't like to waste no nothing. When I contemplate whether to save the last piece of chicken or carrot for a next time or to just eat it although I am totally stuffed, my husband always says: "The damage is the same", meaning whether I eat it or throw it away, damage will be done. It's inevitable. So will the damage be around my waist or psychologically when I do throw it away and have guilt feelings for days? You guessed it right! I buy the bigger size! Hence the oversized closet, I tell you.

We are taking for granted things for which others are struggling for on a daily basis. It's so easy to get accustomed to comfort in the land of plenty. I have admitted before to being no minimalist myself  but I do aspire to find the balance between enough and too much. Between comfort and opulence. I still have a long way to go, but being aware of it is a start, I hope.

Which brings me back to my closet. I have quite a lot of clothes which is total borderline between my "usual" size and this sneaky "bigger" size that came into my life and closet quite uninvited. Will I ever get back to my previous "usual" size or will I stay this "bigger" size which is currently my usual size? So confusing. What to do? To give away or to hang in there and wait for the "usual" size to come back to me and for whoever these new bigger clothes belongs to, to also come back and take their bigger clothes with them to where it belongs. I only have room for my own clothes in my closet, ok? Not for someone else's too!

Just hang it already!

Do you agree that one of the few things that, without exception,  universally and singlehandedly give way to the silliest of arguments between couples (and can become quite heated at times - paging Freud) are: hanging a picture on the wall. Or rather: asking your significant other to help you with this endeavour.

I've tried a few times to do this by myself, but somehow there is a right and wrong way to put a nail in the wall. Who would have thought? It's like my Mom always telling me there's 2 ways to sew a button back on - my way and the right way. Makes no sense to me...

When we started renovating the house, all the pictures were taken off the walls. After 2 ,5 months of this mess I just couldn't wait to put them all back on the walls. Like I say, I am no minimalist and empty walls are just plain scary to me. Why own a house if you always have to save the walls for the next owners? That's what paint was made for!

While in South Africa you drill a hole in the brick/cement wall (I can still see my dad with his tape and plastic bag walking behind my Mom wherever  she leads him, to prevent the fine powder coming from the newly drilled hole to fall on the carpet)  here in Canada the walls are made from drywall and I can literally press the nail into the wall with my bare fingers - no hammer required. And it's exactly here where my method varies from my husband's. He uses at least 4-6 different pieces of equipment to do the same thing  - so unnecessary...

It gets real tricky when you want to hang a mirror or anything heavier than a framed piece of paper on the wall - may I remind you again that we don't have brick walls. I usually put too small a nail for too heavy a picture and as soon as I hang it , the hole in the wall becomes a vertical line in the drywall as the picture pulls the nail downwards...That's why, if you take some of the pictures off of the walls in my house, you may find up to 3 holes/vertical openings there. I refer you back to the purpose of paint...

My husband's method involves laser beams, leveling sticks, measuring tapes, all kinds and sizes of nails, you name it. Why make life so complicated? It's harder than following a new recipe and then the majority of men want to convince their wives they can't cook?

I will admit: he does a way better job than I do with this specific task and I appreciate a job well done. But may I just ask: who is going to look behind every picture to see how it was hung - whether it was done my way or the right way. Any guest even attempting to do this, I have one question for you: what is wrong with you?

You want a piece of China?

After my previous blog I felt a teeny tiny bit bad about the fact that I singled out the Brits on a few things. I would not call this an attempt at reconciliation or redemption, but I always feel : pay a compliment where a compliment is due.

The Brits know a thing or two about tea - you have to give them that - and how to properly serve it. Few things feel as civilised as having High Tea in a fancy hotel. At home though, drinking from a nice Royal Albert tea cup or any tea cup for that matter, will have to do. One just doesn't always have the time or ingredients at hand to prepare 10 different bites to go with it. Baking scones (in Canada they call it a biscuit - this however sounds too much like something the dog would like after performing a trick for its owner) is as far as I'll go unless I have company over to join me in this most elegant of institutions. I have been greatly influenced by the Anglo-Saxons no doubt. The Chinese have teas too, I know, but green tea hasn't won me over as yet.

Do you know why the English pour their milk in the tea cup before the actual tea? Because the cups were from such fine china that it could crack when pouring boiling hot tea into it, but by adding milk first, the cup gradually heats and prevents cracks in the procelain. My dad still sticks to this custom - even when he drinks from a mug on occasion. He's convinced it tastes better this way.

One of the biggest voids in my life here in Canada (apart from being 23 000km away from friends and family) is the absence of cafes/coffee shops with their wide variety of cakes and pastries. Here it is undoubtedly a coffee culture and drive-through service at these coffee joints to make the experience even go by faster and make it less diluted than than it should be. Sitting down to enjoy this moment in your day is the least you can do for yourself. Although with coffee it is a different experience than with tea, no doubt. So after we first moved to Canada we started drinking our tea from mugs because mugs are everywhere - cups you have to really go the extra mile for in finding it. Let me tell you: tea just does not taste the same in a mug! I can vouch for this. Tea is as delicate as the cup from which it should be served in. It should not be consumed in half a litre quantities at a time (yes even the mugs here are bigger than what I were used to)  like one does with coffee.

Tea cups became such a rare sighting to me that I started buying every cup that had the remote chance of taking me back to the tea experiences I remember from childhood. Growing up I could never appreciate the Royal Albert collections but I always loved the lightness of the porcelain and the rim so thin between your lips. And so it happened two Christmases ago that Royal Albert brought out a centennial collection which consisted of 10 different looking cups - one from each decade. I was now a grown-up and immediately fell in love with it. And obviously bought it. The problem was that it didn't come with an accompanying small plate for the scones and cucumber sandwiches...I phoned and e-mailed and went from store to store trying to find same. In the end I resorted to the highest levels in the Royal Albert company structure - the CEO in Canada. My next step would have been to contact the Queen and ask for her help - she would know the right people. A week later I had 10 different looking plates matching my 10 different looking cups. I'm persistent, if nothing else...

By now I have the tea pots and milk and sugar sets to boot. I have a special showcase just for these lovely "working" ornaments - yes, I am using it as often as I want and although it must be washed by hand , I do it with a smile because: the tea just tastes better this way!