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!

But how does my hair look?

Like most of you I view a visit to the hairdresser both as a thrill and a scare. But after I messed up my bangs /fringe for the umpteenth time - with the proper scissors no less - it is unfortunately a necessity sometimes.

Hairdressers must be the profession who gets away with the most without getting sued on a daily basis for ruining countless lives - and by this I mean the next 2 months of your life it will take for your hair to recover from the trauma it endured. Furthermore hairdressers must be the most pardoned people out there since we don't forgive anyone else in our lives as much and as many times as we forgive hairdressers in general - and of course I am generalising here, but hey, you're the one who keeps going back to them, right?

Maybe our hairdresser's own hairstyle should already tell us something and be an indication of how far he/she will be prepared to go with YOUR hair since they are obviously fearless when it comes to their own hair. Because it just so happens that there always is a brand new colour/technique/style/product that they feel you absolutely must try. Be adventurous, they say. A change is as good as a holiday and so on and so forth.

What I've learned so far from them:  if they say it's something new from Britain, or currently a trend in Britain - stay clear! The British may have given us high tea and Princess Di, but when it comes to styling, decorating, dressing properly and cooking, they still need to go a long way. I am not talking about Jamie Olivier though - he is trying his utmost best to get his people to make edible food but Rome wasn't built in one day, if you catch my drift. The British also think they can hide any dress faux pas by wearing a "fascinator" on their heads. Go princess Beatrice! And Kate Middleton : lose the black eyeliner already - the raccoon wants his look back. And I'm sure I am not making any new friends with this statement, but really, there's no need for her to do her own make-up anymore. The Queen will pay for the make-up artist - her budget's big enough. What I wouldn't give to have my own hairstykist and make-up artist but unfortunately I'm only Queen in my own house and don't have the budget to go with it. Only the Queen and Oprah have that.

Maybe I should veer off the British for now and rather do another piece on them another day - they just get me so riled up when they pretend as if we introduced the class system to the world and everything that goes with it. One question for them: who came up with words like "butler" and "his lordship" and still pays millions of tax dollars to keep the monarchy going?

But back to the hairdressers - you thought there for a moment I lost you...but I didn't. The other thing about them is the fact that as soon as you sit down in their chair, they assume it goes with the territory that they should know about every love you've ever had, and lost, who the black sheep in your family is at the moment and why you think the earth moves and how. And my goodness, the stories THEY tell YOU...a few movies can be made from those!

Which brings me to my current hairdresser. Let's call him Tim. Why not? He does not do small talk. He doesn't chit chat one teeny tiny bit. No invasion of my privacy or personal space. And it's not as if he just doesn't chatter with me, that's just the way he is - as private I guess as I am...I am also one of those people on a long haul flight who can manage not to say more than "hello" and "goodbye" to the stranger sitting next to me - he/she is as strange to me after 11 hours as they were when we started the journey. I know: I am a real fun person. Maybe it's just because I can't see the point in telling you every detail of my life when I'm never going to see you again. I can see the point in doing this if you want to save on a shrink's bill by just spilling it all to someone you'll never see again, but I choose not to. Each to his own, I say.

The one thing though about my hairdresser : he never lets me look into the mirror while he works. As soon as he starts cutting, he turns my chair so that each mirror in the salon is out of my vision, peripheral and otherwise. It's the oddest thing. Imagine going into a dressing room in a clothing store and there's no mirror there. Totally defeats the purpose, right? Maybe he feels that the element of suspense he keeps you in while he's working, heightens the relief you feel when you eventually see the end product and it's not the new trend from London...

Even though I'm never 100% satisfied when I leave a salon (that's just the way life is, the same with weather: someone is always complaining about it no matter the forecast) at least I'm not crying and vowing never to go back again. Tim's just doing fine! And so am I.

Do you really think I have enough chairs now?

Like most people living in a different country than their families, I resort to e-mails with lots of photos to keep them informed of my far away life. Everything gets photographed - from what I cook for supper, what I bought yesterday and the day before, when I move even the slightest little thing around in my house, etc. etc. - you get the picture (literally!).

So it just so happens that we've just finished renovating our house - that's a whole novel on its own - and once again the usual photographs were taken and sent to all the relevant family members. Snugged in between the reno photos were  pictures of 2 new chairs we (the husband and I - or as my neighbour call hers: "hoosbundt") also bought since the previous batch of photos were sent.

With the sending of these I naturally had to get the feedback from said family members, otherwise: what's the point? First remark my sister sends back: "I think you have enough chairs now". Her next sentence: "and tea cups". And next : :"and mannequins...and fur coats...and posters" . To explain the "poster" part - we also collect antique posters, signs and photos.

At first I didn't know what she was talking about. I want to know what she thinks of the renovations we did that took more than 2 months to complete and cost us THOUSANDS of dollars - yes, not Rands (South Africa's currency). Three bathrooms no less. But not a word on this is mentioned...

Let me just be clear: I am not a hoarder, and no, I am not in denial. I am a collector. Like my Mom always says: "a thing of beauty is a joy forever". It just so happens that I collect clothes too - why not? I have the closet space and the selection in North America is just overwhelming. My sister - fine one to point the finger at me - went crazy in these stores when she visted me last year for the first time since I've been in Canada . I still don't think I moved here as such, although I am a legally recognised Canadian. Be still my "boere"  heart.

So far she hasn't mentioned the watch collection yet and a few other things as well...But I won't make excuses - yet... I love beautiful things . I am no minimalist and never will be. That's just not who I am.

My only problem with my collections as such, is that I am now seriously running out of room to put all these things. The extra closets we added with this recent renovations, are almost full again although I am not one to put my things in closets. I want to see them - yes they are my friends - everyday. Makes for  a lot of extra work - don't you just hate dusting too? - but I wouldn't have it any other way.

The only solution I can see for this "lack of space" problem, is to buy another house and house a few collections in this second house. And maybe this second house should be in South Africa where it will be easier for my friends and family to visit me.

And then I don't need to send them any more e-mails with attachments...