Why I don’t like this time of year

My whole life is thrown off balance every year, every November and December.  There simply are too many social activities for my liking.

It is one party or function after the other, people and more people and too many people.  If I had it may way, I would much rather stay in bed on those days with a migraine.  Problem is, I can’t fake illness.  The sad part is, and I’m sure a lot of other people may feel the same; I’m sort of forced to go.

I was told in a meeting the other day that employees declining invites to Christmas parties are the negative ones in a corporation.  I was also told, not in that meeting, and not in these exact words, that I give people reason to pick on me because I aired my view on this issue.

Now, just to clear it all:  I’m not negative towards any corporation.  I’m not negative towards a good plate of food (just look at me!), I’m not negative towards people I work with.  I like my job.  I like getting up in the morning and getting to work.  I like speaking with the people at work.  But what I like most, is going home after work.

I like people, but I prefer to be alone.  End of story.  That is who I am.

When there are too many of you, you exhaust me and you make me nervous and you make me want to go home.  That is why I prefer being with my family.  Irma, sometimes Martin (he can handle company better than I do and spend a fair amount of time with friends), and Stiaan when he is home.  They are enough for me, most of the time.

We stay at home, we go out, we go camping, we go wherever we want to without having to interact anymore than needed to pay for things, check in and out at places, and to (at most) greet our neighbours at a campsite.  When I feel the need for more social interaction than what I get at home or work, I reach out to close friends and family, have some time with them, and then I’m good to go for another month or two or twelve.

So, please invite me to your parties.  I will never say no to free food.  Sometimes the networking opportunities are not so dull either.  Sometimes you invite some of my close friends or family and I can happily ignore the rest of the crowd.  But please know: I can’t wait to leave, and I can’t wait to get to January.  I desperately need to get back home! I desperately need to restore balance, my balance, according to my scale, the scale that is calibrated perfectly for me.

Please note that no extroverts were killed during the writing of this blog.

The Daughter of Chuck

The Daughter of Chuck

Dear Biker-Chick,

Sometimes a random person enters someone’s life and they click.  And they become friends  Like we did.

We clicked.  We clicked on things like bikes (obviously), your collection of motivating and inspiring books on your desk, our shared love for reading, and so many other things that made us discuss issues of the day and talk as if we knew each other for years.

The Supermodel!

We clicked, very well I may add, when you helped me to find some of those expensive magazines with the nice pictures so I could show Irma and Martin what real models should look like.  No, not supermodels like you, plastic models like the ones I like to build. Where will I get these magazines from now?

 

The Ballerina

One of the topics we did not talk about much, but we also clicked on, are our artistic sides.  You living your creative passion in your work, spending spare time on the ballet floor (it freaked me out every time I saw you walking around the office on your toes, ballerina-style!), you being the model in front of the camera.  Me with my feeble attempts at writing a blog, photography and building model aircraft.

And then, one day, it just so happened that we were “clicked” together.

The model and the modeller (from left to right, that is!):

So, as we part at the workplace today, my message to you: Keep on clicking with other people.  Keep on being the free spirit you are.  Take the road less traveled.  Go to places you have never been. Enjoy the ride. Keep on making beautiful things even if nobody cares.  Keep on smiling.  Never stop helping others.  Feel the wind in your hair, and enjoy the mud between your toes.  Seize the day, with a cup of coffee in the one hand, and a pancake in the other. Kiss your man, your dog or your tree.  Or all three.  Keep on picking up puppies in the street and knock on a stranger’s door like you did the other day, and embrace the strange strangers inside that home!  (That, Melissa Norris, was one of the most awesome, heart-warming stories anybody has ever told me!)  Be someone’s sunshine, be silly and be loved.  Take care of yourself, because nobody else will do it like you can.  Get things done, be somebody and make a difference.  Keep on doing all these things because that is WHO YOU ARE! And because you CAN!

And most important: Thank you for being my friend!

Peace, Ultra Mel!

PS.  Thanks for allowing me to use these photos.  I don't know who the photographers are (except the bottom one which Peter took), so, credit to them.

We are all caught up in our own worlds...

It is Stiaan’s birthday today.  Sweet 16.  Pretty normal thing for most kids to get excited about, isn’t it?

So we know.  Not sure if he will ever understand the concept of birthdays.  Irma will go fetch him this morning in Kempton Park and then they will pick Martin up from school.  Tonight we will open presents!  He will act surprised.  We will all smile and take happy snappies!

16 years ago Stiaan was born in Clinton Clinic.  Premature at eight months.  It was the same night when I returned from hospital that I was almost attacked / hi-jacked as I got off the highway at about 3 AM .  Fortunately I saw the bastards running up to me and there was no other traffic around so I made sure I got home very fast.  But this story is about Stiaan, not me.  I could not wait to share the news so I ‘phoned my late mum-in-law up at that time of night and told her that she had a new grandson.  I told her that Irma was OK and that Stiaan was OK.  There also was a lot of not-so-OK-stuff I did not know about at that time that I could not tell her.

I knew he was very small at birth but I thought that was simply because he was prem.  I had a concern about his malformed toes but the pediatrician assured me it was nothing to worry about.  Those were the immediate worries.  If I only knew then.

During the next few months we were introduced to worlds only other people live in.  One of the new worlds was that of people who have constantlly ill children.  It was difficult for us.  We did not understand.  We had no issues with bringing up Martin, Stiaan’s older brother.  Like khakibos.  It grows.  No issues.  Not that Martin is khakibos.  He is exactly the opposite thereof.  What was wrong with Stiaan?

Stiaan would not suck.  “Suck or starve”, the pediatrician told us.  He would not suck, and we would not let him starve.  So we fed him with syringes.  Every few hours.  He was crying all the time.  We did not know what to do.  Many a time he would fall asleep on my stomach, with Irma waking up in a panic a couple of hours later and asking where he was.  Still on my stomach.  Sometimes I would let him gently slide off and let him sleep between us.  For the first six months of his life, and I’m not lying, Stiaan was more in hospital than at home.  We learned to pack his bags when we took him to a doctor as we knew he was going to be admitted.

While Irma was still on maternity leave I would drop her at the hospital and Martin at daycare in the morning, and go to work.  After work I would pick Martin up, go to hospital and pick Irma up.  We were not sure if we could trust the nurses feeding Stiaan with a syringe.  Not too many people have the patience to do that with a baby who is suppose to drink from a bottle.

When doing a first aid course many years ago the instructor told us that most people would on average get in a situation only once where they would need  to administer mouth-to-mouth.  One night I had my turn with Stiaan.  Good thing I did that course.

Another world we became part of is that of parents who have more than one pediatrician for their child.  Who in their right mind would want to do that?  Well, we did, but we only had two of them on our books while we had the account to settle of the first one.  We decided to get a second opinion.  Things changed immediately. At six months of age Stiaan was admitted to hospital for the last time – to this day!  The new pediatrician kept him there for about two weeks.  At that time we had a wonderful nanny taking care of Stiaan as no daycare close to us would take him in.  Once again, every morning we would drive from Crown Gardens to Linksfiled Clinic to drop her so she could feed Stiaan and take care of him during the day, then into the CBD to go to work.  In the evening back to Linksfield and back to Crown Gardens.  Up to this very day I can’t drive past the Linksfield off-ramps on the N3 without thinking of those two weeks.  During that time every possible test was run on him.  We had more specialists and laboratory bills from those two weeks than most people receive in a lifetime.  Then the results came.  And the phone call from the consulting rooms. “Doctor wants to see you”.

So, we became part of yet another world only other people live in.  We officially became the parents of a disabled child.  Denying was not an option.  The proof was there, black on white, on the results of the lab test we now have to send a copy to SARS every year as they still need proof every year that Stiaan’s chromosomal defect was not fixed.  I find this very funny, not only because he can't be fixed, but also because they keep accepting a document issued 15 years ago!  The same results we had to submit to the department of education to get Stiaan exempt from attending school when he turned seven.  The same results the doctor handed to us with copies from a medical text book from the 60’s describing his condition.  His condition was first described in medical journals by the same doctor who described Downs syndrome.  The text book copies were clear:  Stiaan had an IQ just enough to keep him alive.

It took a few days for this idea to sink in.  The first thing we were told was to change his formula.  Not S26 or the other stuff you buy in shops.  Some stuff I can’t remember the name of and you had to put in a special order at a pharmacy.  Yet another death sentence to the wallet.  And guess what?  The six months of constant crying stopped the moment we changed the formula.  The internet became our best friend.  We searched, saved and took in everything we could on Cri-du-Chat.  We ordered videos from Australia, joined support groups, and then we made a decision.

Despite all the new worlds we were living in, we were going to let Stiaan live in as much of a normal world as we can give him.

During the next ten years Stiaan was pushed to his limits with weekly physiotherapy, speech therapy, swimming lessons, attending a school for disabled during the day, coming home in the evenings.  At age of about ten years we decided to move him to a permanent home.  This was one of the hardest decisions we ever had to take.  Well, for me it was.  There were various reasons for doing this.  I guess the main reason is that that rest of the family was busy falling apart.  For ten years, all attention was on Stiaan, all the time.  Irma and I haven’t had a proper holiday since our honeymoon.  Martin was known as the kid with the disabled brother, the one whom was often teased at Sunday school and school.  Most of us were often greeted with “Hello, how is Stiaan?”  We had to bring the balance back into our lives.  We had to live again.

So where is Stiaan now?  Stiaan is in his happy place.  It costs us a fortune to have him at Casa Caritas, but so costs life.  He still can’t walk properly and sometime bum-crawl holes into new pants within a day, he still can’t talk but we understand his gestures (I prefer the word gestures to signs as he uses more than just his hands to indicate something.  In most cases it is a complete “show” of hands, face, sounds and body) and the few words he tries to say.  He is still on nappies and possibly will be for the rest of his life.  He has a wheelchair for outings to the zoo – we stopped taking him to shops long time ago.  Not because we can’t handle the stares and remarks of people living in a normal world, simply because we got gatvol of picking up everything he throws off the shelves!  He recognizes a few basic colours, some numbers, and he can “tell” you on which channel the TV is by looking at the logos.  He recognizes most animals and has gestures for them.  He recognizes Ho-Ho-Ho and can’t wait to open his “pakkies” on Christmas Eve.  He loves smiling and can put on a real act when asked to smile!  He loves watching scary late-night movies with Martin when he is at home, and always wants someone to play hide-and-seek with him.  He gets very excited when we go fetch him for a weekend but also make it clear that he is not always happy when we take him back.  He craves attention and we have to make sure we don’t plan anything else for when he comes home.  A “Stiaan”-weekend is a “STIAAN”-weekend!  He loves watching TV and will not move if there is cricket on TV.  If he is not happy with what is on TV he will make you understand that you must change channels until he finds something he wants to watch.  He has an army of teddies and other soft toys.  Each has a name and he remembers their names – and don’t dare make a mistake and call a teddy by the wrong name.  You will know it is the wrong name!  He will punish you by letting you call out all the names of all his teddies until you get it right.  He gets up early in the mornings and keeps me company while Irma and Martin still sleep.  He does not like our cats and dogs much but tolerates them – he knows what is good for him!  He loves playing with his teddies in the empty bath; he can sit there for hours on end.  He has a fine sense of humour and likes to be teased every now and then.  He also likes walking (not stalking) up to you, giving you a frightening “WHA!”

And where are the rest of us?  We are just fine.  We have a 16 year old baby we love to bits, the same goes for his 17 year old brother.  We know when to act scared when being WHA’ed, we know we are not the boss of the TV when he is home; we have a baby on nappies.  We have a baby who can’t feed himself and can’t eat solids - all foods need to be mashed.  We have a baby who likes to play and have fun with the other members of family.  We play hide-and-seek all the time.

It sounds to me like we are caught up in a pretty normal world, doesn’t it?

Happy birthday, Stiaan!

Never buy a car you can’t push

“Never buy a car you can’t push”-Anonymous

Those are great words.  Possibly by someone whom had as frequent vehicle trouble as I have.  Also, I stole it from the petrol station up the road.

I was very fortunate to have grown up in an environment where I would spend most school holidays and at least one weekend per month on a farm.  I was 10 years old when my grandfather passed away and my late granny sold the farm, my uncle Zirk took up a jobs as farm manager on two farms a few km down the road.  What started off on my late granddad’s farm, continued on the farms where my uncle used to work.  All three farms were real bushveld farms, in the Mabula area.  Here you would find cattle, donkeys, a lost horse every now-and-then, peanut-, sunflower- and maize fields, and during winter game was hunted.  You do not need a license to drive on a farm.  You just need someone with patience to teach you how to drive a donkey, a 210 liter oil drum and a donkey car.  Some things you can’t steer and you simply become a passenger in an old tractor tyre steered by rocks and roots of trees.  Does not matter where you start, you never end up where you wanted to.  Coming to a halt is the most frightening part of the journey.  When that tyre goes down on its side you have to make sure you have no body parts protruding else you could end up with a severely bruised or even broken limb.  It was always a good idea to lift your head away from the ground to lighten the severity of concussion.  Swinging on gates was also a favorite pastime.

Then I got older and I turned to things with engines.  First it was my aunt Hannetjie teaching me the basics in Uncle Stanleys almost brand new automatic Audi as an eight-year old.  To this day I’m not sure if he knows about that, and I have no intention of ever telling him!  (Cousins, you keep your mouths shut).  I could hardly see over the dashboard.  From there on things happened at pace.  Tractors, bakkies, cars, motorbikes, BIGGER tractors, eight-ton trucks, massive maize harvesters, almost anything you can find on a farm that had a engine.  If you can say that starting the engine of a pivot irrigation system means “driving” it, I also drove a Rolls Royce!  Those Rolls Royce engines were HUGE!

That was the end of my care-free, car-free life.

My first legally on the road vehicle was a 1983 Yamaha RZ 50 motorcycle.  I borrowed money from my granny, R700 to pay for that bike.  I must add that I paid her all back when I started work.  I used this during my last two school years to get to school and back.  It died a slow death after I stopped using it and eventually was tripped for spares and the rest was scrapped.  Fortunately I never had any major problems with her but ran out of petrol at least once between Valhalla and Rooihuiskraal.  In the early 80’s there simply was NOTHING on that stretch of road except for the odd farmhouse here and there.  I did beg for petrol at one house which was used as a base for a business but was given a cold shoulder by a lady after she chatted to the boss-man.  I caught a glimpse of the boss-man and as I left I thought I recognized him but did not bother to turn back.  Up to this day I believe it was a family member but honestly don’t feel like embarrassing neither of us.  I simply cannot recall how I got home but it was not too big an issue I guess.

Then my dad bought me a 1982 Peugeot 504 1800cc.  Only R1900 at an auction.  She needed a new battery and part of the exhaust system replaced and she was on the road.  I started using her towards the end of my matric year.  I was using my “Rooi Gevaar” for frequent weekend trips between Centurion and Air Force Base Hoedspruit when an Impala simply jumped in front of me one Sunday evening just outside Burgersfort.  The front of the car was wrecked, the two National Servicemen I gave a lift had to get back to Hoedspruit on their own steam that evening, and I could not push the car back to town.  Early next morning I walked back to town, reported the accident, organized for the car to be towed to a panelbeater and then started hitchhiking to Hoedspruit.  A few lifts and many hours later I arrived in Hoedspruit.  My dad later replaced her and she was passed on to someone in need of a car.

The Peugeot was replaced with a 1977 Mercedes Benz 200.4.  Lovely family car, just needed a family!  Once Irma and I got married we still used her for a while but later realized we did not need two cars so I returned her to my dad.  He sadly sold her.  Now this was a HUGE car, and I walked MANY kilometers because of her.  I was working for De Beers at that time, working at a field exploration camp just outside Delareyville.  During a long-weekend I organized for it to be serviced in Welkom while visiting my parents in Hennnenman.  On my way back to Delareyville, at about nine in the evening and somewhere between Wolmaransstad and a little place called Migdol the engine died on me.  I walked the remaining 29.5 km to the camp – I measured the distance the next morning with the bakkie on my way back to the car to tow her in.  The sad part is that only ONE car passed me during my route march that night and the driver did not even bother to slow down.  It later turned out the guys servicing the car did not fit the oil filter properly, I ran the engine dry.

Later, as the family expanded, and Irma and I worked in different directions, we added a 1989 BMW 320i to our vehicle history, filling up the empty space underneath the carport.  Loved the little car but we got to a stage where we would fill up with oil and check the petrol.  She also had a major problem with a temperamental alternator but I was never stranded with her, not even after Irma had a little accident between Kenhardt and Calvinia.

Irma owned a 1992 VW City Golf 1300 she bought shortly before we got married in 1994.  A few hiccups, fortunately all happened at someone’s house where lifts were available except for one instance where she died on Irma one morning on her way to work.  The car started when I arrived at Irma and the broken down car, somewhere between work and home.  We suspect the immobilizer was having a bad day.  Another problem was two flat tyres Irma picked up on the N12 one morning on her way to Alberton.  Fortunately we had a second spare so I could take it out to her and get her going.  We never had a problem again after that until she (the car, not Irma) pulled the disappearing act on us in June 2006.

I replaced the BMW with a Mercedes Benz E220.  I love the car.  However, she has been being very temperamental over the past three years but she has never left me stranded at any place other than home.  No major pushing needed other than shunting her around the driveway and carport!

Irma replaced the stolen Golf with a brand new, green Huyndai Atos which was written off by a jerk in 2012 when he skipped a stop street.  That was the only time Martin and I had to organize a lift home.

In the meantime I bought a Gomoto Freedom 125 to get to work and back.  I bought a cheapy with the idea if I did like the idea of biking again I did not waste too much money.  Good thing.  After only about 17000 kilometers it started giving all kinds of trouble and I could not find a specific spare part.  She died on me one afternoon on my way home on the M1.  Fortunately I could push her home for the last three kilometers.  Martin eventually got her going again and it became his toy, teaching himself how to drive a bike.

The green Atos then was replaced with a white, 2010 Atos.  She is still going strong, never let us down once.

I replaced the Gomoto with a Honda E-Storm 125.  Except for the occasional flat tyre, all fine so far.  One good thing about her, she can be pushed, like I have done many times!

How to find a special!

I’m a bit of an impulsive shopper.  This is completely true when it comes to peanuts.  Salted or not, raisins or not, as long as I get my peanuts.  However, for most items with a price tag where you look at the tag at least twice before you even lift it of the shelve to read the fine print, I will do some research on specs and pricing before hitting the shops.

One of the easiest ways to do research on the items I desire to purchase is to page through the leaflets received with our free weekly community newspapers.  Sometimes I have a problem with my Saturday morning browsing for “specials”, or our free newspaper for that matter.  In our yard we have two free-roaming, deluxe model shredders.  Both are of the “DOG” brand, one a “FEMALE” model, the other a “MALE” model.  Now, I love technology and when we obtained these wireless shredders I was given the assurance that their levels of “intelligence” will allow them to be trained in such a way that they will only shred selected papers.  Never trust anybody giving you anything for free, especially when it is a wireless device.

For the past year I haven’t been able to “train” these two shredders to shred only papers I allow them to shred.  They simply shred any paper and anything.  Obtaining a wireless shredder is not the way to go.  I have also given up training those guys delivering the newspapers from simply tossing the paper over the wall, directly into the random path used by the shredders.

Then a friend came along and told me about a website where I can find all my weekly specials online - provided my deluxe DOG shredders haven’t received some instruction to shred my PC.  As long as I have my PC, and ESKOM likes me, I can browse all those specials online, even receiving daily notifications on Items I am in the market for.  Paperless leaflets at http://www.guzzle.co.za/. 

Greetings,

Besembek