Spring – from my garden to you with love.

Avon, pretty please change my life.

If I get that neutral-tone eyeshadow palette with the 8 different neutral colours: The messy kitchen will become gleaming fresh with hardwood floors(of course neither the refrigerator nor the washing machine will ever leak again then) and new tiles, the beds wil straighten themselves, the paint in the livingroom will chip off the wall to reveal the beautiful red brick underneath – magically free of damp – and four neat holes will be ready for four poles ready to be concreted in where I want to put up a screen so that opportunistic thieves stop stealing our hosepipes and washing pegs. No wait. Make that one hole. I’ve already half-dug three. Oh wait, why not have the screen up already? Scrap that, why not have a country where everybody has enough to eat so that people don’t feel the need for stealing other people’s hosepipes or washing pegs or murdering them in their beds for that matter. Still, the screen will look nice.

While we’ve seemingly landed at home-improvements: The old bench we discovered behind the garage will be restored and sitting proudly at one end of that rectangular garden that is still in process but that won’t be in process much longer. Provided I get my Supershock Avon mascara in brown-black.

My three kids will be with me all home-birthed and organically fed. No need to still send the guy putting a gravestone on Loren’s grave an e-mail confirming the wording and order. I will know nothing of oxygen saturation, will not be able to distinguish between hypertonic and hypotonic and I will still be under the mistaken impression that all human beings are seen as equal the moment they enter a doctor’s room. Not that we would ever need a hospital (or a doctor). Stinky collecting places for germ colonies that they are.

Of course the kids will be home-schooled, their bedroom shelves will be put up and their toys will be sorted out. Discipline would be a non-issue as they would want to be well-behaved. Somebody will have already removed the disgusting carpet in the livingroom and the slate tiles will be there in all of their multicolour gloriousness. No, make that a hardwood floor too. Throughout the house. Of course I will have the resolve to prohibit the kids from eating anywhere but the kitchen so that the hardwood floors don’t go the way of that livingroom carpet. Oh wait, that won’t work… there’s hardwood floors in the kitchen too. Maybe the kids would want to eat outside? It stands to reason that the kid’s bedroom blinds I’ve been working on for the past six months will be finished and that my sewing machine will have had that service it hasn’t had since 2005. The kids would actually sleep in their bedroom, by the way.

The russet blush. Now that could possibly be enough to enable me to finish the mosaic of a tree without people congratulating me on my lovely mosaic of a cat. (The story of my artistic life).

Oh yes and the stone-clad flower bed outside the bedrooms that the cats use as a toilet will be concreted and decorated with pebbles so that the bedrooms don’t stink. Not that I blame the cats. I’d use the closest toilet too. The swimming pool will be emptied and patched where it is leaking and the rusty fence repaired and freshly painted.

I will lose the 3 kg I’ve put on through the winter and my legs will be brown, hairless and bump-free. My higher-than-average blood pressure will lower because I will have developed selective blindness and deafness towards assholes. (There’s a limit to what make-up can achieve, after all.) I will also learn to say no. Very important, that one.

Lipstick is the only reason my life isn’t perfect. Clearly it’s because I haven’t found just the right shade that mold grow inside the storage space under the window seats and inside the fridge. (Mold makes for a very interesting biology lesson though.)

So, my quest continues… Watch this space.

Nathan Schoonraad 26/07/2005 – 30/07/2008

We are thinking of Carina, Richard and their boys with the anniversary of Nathan’s birth on 26 July (Sunday) and the anniversay of his death on 30 July.

Few of us knew Nathan personally, but he touched our lives in so many positive ways. We bow our heads in thankfulness for his life. The earth will never be the same, for someone of significance has left it.

In his memory, Carina and Richard are helping numerous children. It must take tons of courage and the kind of energy that they probably do not always feel they have. We want to thank them.

We will never forget.

Little boys…

Eat cake and fling the crumbs carelessly onder the bed.
Scatter the playing cards you’ve just picked up like leaves
Dig out the just-planted bulbs with generous handfuls of mud
Squeal gleefully and sit down in the mud.
Run away from you dressed in just a nappy in the middle of winter
Give slobbery kisses….to the dog.
Lick the underside of their shoes thoughtfully and then smack their lips.
Think farting is funny – anywhere, anytime.
Accuse their brothers, mothers or fathers of farting when, in fact, it was them.
Absolutely categorically deny that they have a stinky nappy.
Spray their brothers with underarm spray. In the face.
Pull loose mats from under their brothers.
Climb on kitchen counters to get to the pasta – which they devour uncooked.
Water the paving and then splash in the puddles. With their non-waterproof shoes on.
Cry about the little children who could not save their daddies when you tell the story of the Titanic.
Consider it a personal insult when you wipe their faces or noses.
Hide the cat with them under the covers.
Love starting fires.
Want to sit on your lap just as you start supper.
Want to chase each other on a bike when you want to sit down for some peace, quiet and a cuddle with them.
Cannot get enough of stories.
Chew carrots and spit them out on the carpet.
Only sleep when you need to be awake.
Never want to eat what you are cooking. Only what you made for lunch yesterday.
Develop hunger pangs an hour before lunch is ready.
Fight in the bath.
Wiggle your bum and sing jelly wobble, jelly wobble.
Want to debate something very serious just when you are getting ready to go out.
Refuse to wear a jersey or shoes.
Give the best kisses and hugs in the whole world.

Which is why we love little boys.

Pink clouds

I’m only able to cry when I read someone else’s words of missing. So, I sit and look at the computer screen and while I read another mother’s words I think: Thank you God for not putting us in the position where we had to choose to let him go. I’m reading this mother’s words. This mother who did choose to let go two years ago. And I’m not judging her. I’m just glad that I don’t have to bear that on top of everything else.

There are in fact times when I feel that all that has happened is just too much. I know that crying does not help. The grief goes too deep, too wide. So, I normally escape by not feeling. This time there is momentarily the relief of crying.

“Mamaaa?
Mammaaa?”

I pull my face into a smile. I grab hold of my emotions, pull them back sharply. And I turn and face my living son. The one who never knew his brother, but who points to the photos and squeals in delight.

“Baba! Babaaa!”

To him there is no difference between the three little boys in the photos.

He senses the emotions and looks unsure of himself for a moment, but he’s too young to understand. So I swing him up into my arms.

“Let’s go find the key. Will you help me?”

As I stand in the doorway, looking out over the garden filled with the last light, he points eagerly to the keys on the patio table just outside the door.

“Da. Da!”

I praise him and step outside to fetch the keys. There are pink clouds towards the west as the sun sets and I’m reminded of the first time I pointed out the pink clouds to Marco and saw Loren reacting. He knew clouds, he could see and he wanted to partake in their beauty. I still feel my heart fill with joy at the knowledge.

“Look at the pink clouds!” I exclaim and turn Magnus to face the west.

My blond son looks at me defiantly.

“Blech!” he says. His word for yucky.

I guess pink clouds are not everybody’s taste.

Time flies

26 April 2009 – 2 years

Peace?

It is election day in South Africa and despite the general certainty that the ANC will win – although their service delivery is putrid – most people went and voted. This is in stark contrast to the previous election when a lot of people simply didn’t vote.

We voted around mid-morning. Dirk went first while I looked after the kids and I went after. We were lucky. We didn’t have to wait too long in line and the whole thing was over and done within 20 minutes to half an hour. The rest of the public holiday we could relax.

I had a nice bath and Magnus joined me in the bathroom, tugging at his pajamas indicating that he wanted to bath too. So I undressed him and put him in the bath with me. Before long Marco was there and got into the bath without a word. I love bathing with them and seeing them enjoy this simple pleasure. Looking down on Magnus’ head, I had a brilliant idea. Got out, fetched scissors and promptly gave him a haircut. It turned out as nice as one could hope for with him jerking his head around every few seconds to see what I’m doing or to protest loudly: “No no no no.”

(By the way, “no” is not a word in Afrikaans and his pronunciation is more Latin than English. The other night at the circus, he tried chatting to the little boy sitting next to him who couldn’t understand a word he was saying and asked what language he was speaking. Dirk answered, “Chinese” without a hint of a smile and the little boy gave Magnus a long disbelieving stare.)

Afterwards, I put him (still naked) in front of the mirror in our bedroom to admire his haircut. I swear I was away for just a minute to fetch some clothes for Marco and when I came back I found Magnus gesticulating wildly at the floor. He’d done a number two, stepped in it and tried getting rid of it by smearing it all over the carpet. I dumped him back in the bath and washed him down. You can bet your bottom dollar that I immediately dressed him after that. And then it was the carpet and I.

Still, it was a nice day.

It was freezing cold the last few days and it prompted me look at the kids’ winter wardrobe. Their pajamas were threadbare and yesterday we went to town and bought each a new pair, some slippers and decent winter shoes. I was a bit depressed at how much money this exercise cost us, but it had to be done. Today I packed all the shoes that are too small for both away for good as well as Marco’s old shoes that could still be used for Magnus. My kids hate wearing shoes anyway and a lot of Marco’s shoes have hardly been worn. It’s only in Magnus’ current size that we don’t seem to have anything wearable. Estcourt winters unfortunately demand shoes…

You have to curse the short-legged gene that both inherited from…well, follow my eyes. Whenever I have to buy a two-piece, the pants are way too long while the top is just about right or even too small. And the irony is that they are actually tall for their age.

This afternoon I took a nap while Magnus slept. When we woke up, Marco got into bed with me and we read a story while we snuggled. Later we joined Dirk at the swimming pool where he was valiantly trying to get rid of all the leaves in the pool after the stormy weather we had. I took the leave blower and with Magnus shrieking with indignation at the noise it makes, I vacuumed around the pool. Marco was jumping on the trampoline and playing in the leaves. Then he insisted on swimming. I baled out, but Dirk swam with him. The water was freezing and the two of them lasted only a few minutes before they ran home and took a hot bath.

Marco was difficult all evening and was sent to my room for time-out. He reacted with noisy feigned crying and I had to really try hard not to lose my temper with him. I could see that he was tired though and after supper, a milky drink and cleaning his teeth, I read him a story. He fell asleep before I could finish the book. Magnus popped in every so often to pester the cat who’d curled up at Marco’s feet, bring his brother a teddy bear and offer slobbery kisses. He does not really share his brother’s enthusiasm for books. But after Marco slept I tucked him into bed and he fell asleep without a murmur.

Peace at last.

Just the same

A couple of weeks ago I woke up all headachey and didn’t think much of it until the next day when I started feeling really ill. I had joint pains fever, headaches and shivers. A nasty rash followed and for two weeks I could barely walk. It could have been a number of things, but it seemed most like a very bad case of Rubella. So, I stayed home (not that I wanted to go anywhere LOL) took mild painkillers and I’m slowly but surely on the mend. It does not look like either Dirk or the kids caught it. If it was Rubella, this would have been the third time I’ve had it. So, a warning to pregnant women: Even if you think you are immune to it, rather keep away from anybody with Rubella. You can get it more than once. I’ve had vaccines against it as a child and again as an adult. Vaccines are not effective in protecting you.

The whole episode forced me to re-look at the way we eat, my poor sleeping patterns and the amounts of caffeine I ingest daily. I’m happy to report that those things have been taken in hand.

I seem to have more energy than before and have finally dealt with a couple of problems that I’ve been trying to ignore. Like our poor old Spaniel’s ears. He’s had an ear infection since before we left Pietermaritzburg and although I’ve taken him to the vet who prescribed antibiotic, cortisone and a number of creams and ointments, we just could not get the ears completely cleared. After forcing myself to spend a few minutes a day consistently cleaning the ears and putting ointment on them and carrying on after the ears seemed to have cleared, I think we’re on the road to success. I’m now adamant that even if it takes me doing the ear routine every day for the rest of his life, I will do it.

Sometimes ignoring a problem makes the problem eventually sort itself out. But mostly, sadly, things don’t work out this way.

We’ve started taking Marco to a child psychologist after we realized that he had difficulty dealing with some aspects of Loren’s death. This past week he touched on the subject and I could hear that he finally “got” that there was nothing he could have done to save Loren. Also that he cannot bring Loren back. He knows that he need not fear that Magnus will die as Loren had particular health problems. I’m sad that my child has had to work through something as profound as this. But I’m glad that he was able to.

We’ve been in Estcourt for almost a year and I do think that we did the right thing for our family in moving here. It hasn’t been an easy year, but things have fallen into place remarkably well. Marco is currently refusing to go to pre-school. But everybody is fine with that. I’m looking at homeschooling, but there’s no real sense of panic or urgency. I’m enjoying the kids.

With the anniversary of Loren’s death day approaching, we are all feeling more emotional than usual. The 26th will be a Sunday and I’m not sure how we will spend it. I cannot believe it has been two years. Magnus is 21 months old – the same age Marco was when Loren was born. Somehow, Marco seems more mature in my memories of those days, but when I look at Magnus I realize he was not much more than a baby. He was better at expressing himself, though and I now see what a blessing that was.

Mostly, we know how fortunate we are. Other days, we struggle just to get through the day. This makes us not much different from anybody who reads here.

For a moment I’ve felt a glimpse of other lives. Lives that have touched ours in common experiences and in sharing the same feelings. I feel blessed.

Human

Humankind is rotten through and through. We have a history of cruelty against each other. We destroy – not only the earth around us, but also our own bodies. And we do it knowingly, in most cases.

We are brainwashed to become humanists.

“humanist – of or pertaining to a philosophy asserting human dignity and man’s capacity for fulfillment through reason and scientific method and often rejecting religion; “the humanist belief in continuous emergent evolution”- Wendell Thomas”

Sounds beautiful, doesn’t it? There’s even a so-called Christian Humanism for those who balk at the idea of religion being rejected. Except when the humanist is asked to define human dignity or if he is placed in a situation where he has to conclude that there is no fulfillment possible through reason. As for the scientific method… Excuse me while I snigger. Drug trials funded by the companies manufacturing the drugs?

We are educated to become cruel in the guise of being kind. Very few of us are able to see through the phrases which become devoid of meaning in the instant that they become personal. And it is only when someone near to us is affected that we begin to care enough to say: Enough!

We need instant gratification. We want to be associated with success and anything or anybody who does not correspond with the world’s idea of successful gets margnialized. We pity them, we say. Not taking into account that pity is a largely useless emotion. Unless it prompts us to do something useful for the person we claim to pity.

I had an interesting conversation with a friend who is knowledgeable in the field of art history. Primitive people grow up without an awareness of the landscape, he says. The land is merely is source for survival. But it seems awareness is something that needs to be nurtured in all cases. He took art students in their first year out on field trips and many of them confessed that this was the first time in their lives that they’d been made aware of things like the formation of the clouds or the light on water. And most of these students were people who grew up in sophisticated homes.

The other day we drove past a settlement close to the Drakensberg’s Kamberg nature park. The Drakensberg is a World Heritage Site. It is amazingly beautiful. Yet, barely five kliometers from the gates there are people using the crystal clear streams as refuse dumps. Yes, they probably don’t have a refuse removal system. But what stops them from creating their own? Agreeing to dump refuse in a designated place for example. Are they oblivious to the damage they do? Does the outline of the mountains towering above them mean nothing to them? Is chaos the preferred state?

Apparently yes, no and yes. If my friend is correct, the people living there is as unaware of the beauty surrounding them as a colour blind person of colour.

So is doing damage knowingly worse than damage done through ignorance? Whose responsibility becomes damage done through ignorance?

The answer, in my opinion, is: Ours. We who do know better. The people to whom the clouds and the light on the water and the breathtaking scenery were pointed out. The people who should be educating other people. (Whether the education will make any difference, is another question altogether.)

As for the people doing damage knowingly…

May God help them.

I’m not really talking about art history or landscapes or pollution here, of course.