Impulsive Extemporaneous Me

The saddest part of losing it was not realising it was lost in the first place!  Oh, you can mock age related degenerative memory but admit it, when was the last time you were spontaneous? Oh, dear, you can't remember?

Well, I've found it! The freedom of yielding to sudden impulse, seizing a spur of the moment opportunity and not doing the expected or planned. Spontaneity. 

We were born with this treasure and lost it along the way to grown up-hood. Note, grown up, not adult.  Officially we are adults somewhere around 18 or so, but growing up is a choice and once you've bought property, a mode of transport or birthed offspring, you've grown up.

Bills, responsibilities and the chilling prospect of rearing young humans rapidly sucks impulse from each and every cell in our bodies.  You're adulting when your own, miserably serious and sensible parents spew unbidden from your lips. Money saving lifestyle habits like packed lunches, travel mugs and switching off lights are the norm and snuggling up in front of an old dvd is more appealing that donning stilettos and queuing for hours to get into a club. Hey, tomorrow's a work day, remember?

I'm caught up in the sight of carefree children squealing with delight, spinning round in circles and falling into dizzy heaps or begging to be pushed higher and higher on the swing.  How quickly their attention switches, one minute totally absorbed in something which is rapidly discarded when another, more interesting nugget passes by.  No responsibilities or duties weighing them down.

One of 2016's most satisfying moments for me was hearing No 2 Son wail about how 'adulting' was killing him - lectures, car ownership, managing his student digs and life on his own had sucked all the joy from his 21 year old soul. Ha. Payback, baby!

Ahem. We are the anchors of our own lives.  Eagerly swallowing tons of tie-me-downs like krill-munching Humpback whales, we wallow in uber-organised sensibleness.  But it doesn't have to be so and when an unplanned trip into the Kruger National Park to meet a visiting friend for lunch morphed into 'we have room in our chalet, stay the night' it took one very deep breath, a visit to the Park shop for a toothbrush and Bob's your uncle, I played truant from my own life.  

Now how sad is that?

The Secret of her Failure

If you've popped into this blog before, you may have read about Anushka, the Scaredy Cat we adopted from Pro Life in October 2014.  She spent the first 5 months living under the bed, incurring substantial vet bills treating the hay fever allergy stirred by the dust.  Regrettably, she's not the least bit grateful either for the thousands of Rands blown on Pheromone infused collars in a vain attempt to calm the cattiness between her and the feline already in residence.

I'm happy to report that today Anushka is out and about and absolute Queen of the Household.  Him Outdoors is not impressed, calling her a "Pampered Princess", which may have something to do with the daily grooming she demands.  That process started out as a necessity - this cat sheds strands of fur like confetti, she's a one-cat ticker-tape parade.  It's quite a sight to see her stalk across the lawn enveloped in an aura of pastel-hued fur.

Tired of wading through her leavings, I took to a daily brushing which removes handfuls of fur and, contrary to the belief that cats cannot be trained, she recognises the question "is it time for a brush?" and scampers to the brushing station.  Anuschka is in heaven during this process, eyes glazing over while she adjusts her position constantly to ensure every body part is reached while chatting vociferously throughout.

Heaven help my being too busy for the daily routine because she barges into the office, yowling loudly and making sure everything is dropped and she's followed to the grooming spot.

Having trained her humans to feed and brush on demand, she was free to check out the garden poultry.  We have a wonderful variety of garden and wild birds popping in for seed and fruit and Anushka rather likes this arrangement, having dedicated a particular spot on the railing where she can comfortably settle at eye level with the birdfeeder.  Unfortunately for her, we'd got her measure and while the feeder may be at eye level, it's well out of cat paw or even leap reach so all she can do is whimper piteously at the bevy of Bronze Mannikins twittering away.  Not as well trained as the household, the birds ignore her completely; refusing to flutter closer and deliver themselves into her quivering jaws.

Despite ample, rather upmarket cat food in her bowl at all times, she'd much rather have a fresh bird and every feathered creature that flutters, hops, walks or flies in and around our premises is fair game for stalking, with a spectacular lack of success.  Considering how many hours Anushka spends leopard crawling, sinking her podgy body as deeply to the ground as possible and lying in wait, nary a bird meal has come her way.  Sometimes, it's the pathetic mewling that slips out past her salivating lips giving the game away.

Mostly, though, it's the thrashing tail frantically thudding side to side like a pendulum, striking the ground so hard she raises dust.  In the crispy dun landscape laid bare by the drought, Anushka is perfectly camouflaged and it's really amazing to see how close she gets to flocks of Babblers or the Mocking Chats.  If only she could control that overactive tail!  That frantic flickering protuberance loses the game every time and is her tragic flaw.  Hubris! 

I must say, the secret of her failure is not lost on me - absolute stillness and silence sometimes have their place when in hot pursuit of a particular goal.

Mirror Image Strangers

Motes of dust hanging in the air dance in the rays of light sliding slowly down the paneled walls.  Johnny's Pub is filled to capacity with six tourists, Johnny and the Bar Wench so the bubble of conversation along with the musty smell of old wood peculiar to old, tin clad buildings is overpowering.

But hey, it's Friday night in Pilgrims Rest and Johnny's is the place to be.  We're the vanguard for tomorrow's photographic club outing to Pilgrims.  OK, I admit, under the guise of "wouldn't it be lovely to get away for the weekend and combine that with the club outing?" there may have been some ulterior thoughts of getting a jump on the group and unearthing some photogenic nuggets but nonetheless Him Outdoors enjoys any excuse to get away and so we did.

A friendly stranger called Stuart introduced himself, adding that he'd been sitting there longer than he ought to and the wife was beginning to make noises.  We, however, apparently looked like fun people so he graciously called for his ABF and we began the discovery process of getting to know each other.

In the odd way of Africa, Him Outdoors found out that he and Stuart had worked for the same company in days of yore and had many acquaintances in common. And Stuart's wife, Anne, lived in Pilgrims Rest while Stuart lived and worked at Sun City, returning home once a month.  Another Long Distance Marriage - We Are Not Alone.

You could play the opening bars of the Twilight Zone theme music here, I guess. Anne turned up in search of her husband and magically an ABF appeared in her hand while Stuart, having finished the practise round, began his real ABF.  That Bar Wench is really good!

The War Story swopping changed from sales to LDM's. Anne, according to Stuart, is totally entrenched in Pilgrims Rest with her work at a nearby luxury hotel, her social group, painting and lifestyle.  Which he grinds away under difficult circumstances to financially support.

Anne (displaying an impressive array of facial expressions behind Stuart's back) gave the true account.  They both really enjoy living apart for much of the month and getting on with their individual lives.  Time spent together is heartily enjoyed until that magic clock ticks over just before departure and the niggle factor roars in, leading to the huge sigh of relief that accompanies the cheerful hand wave she directs at his departing car.

It could have been Him Outdoors and I telling this tale and interestingly, both Anne and I were highly entertained by the male versions while the men's indignant cries of 'woe is me' rose higher and higher.

Proof that women lead full, engaging lives and don't need a full time partner? Or that life is so frantically busy we don't notice they aren't there?  

It was wonderful to meet two lovely people and to discover that we aren't abnormal.  Unusual and not mainstream, but not completely off the reservation.   

The Big Issue

This Blog is named "Lightly" for a reason.  It's a space for lightness - of soul, of humour and of being.  There is plenty of angst, anger, frustration and forceful opinion in the world without adding more fuel.

But today, Friday 23rd September, I'm drooping with Issue Fatigue.  Over the past few months, I've consciously avoided diving too deeply into the daily news, or entering the social media fray about anything.  A bit mushroomy, yes, but my head is exploding with the constantly growing and endless fug of rage over Issues.

The list is endless - it's quicker to itemise the South African politicians, Councillors and Government officials NOT mentioned in dodgy deals or trough hogging than to name and shame those unveiled daily.

Then, of course, the relentless squawking over municipalities and Government departments who are not doing their jobs properly, infrastructure collapsing, water (when we have it) a poisonous morass, poaching, theft, abuse of power, neglect, crime, students, incomprehensible and obviously moronic decisions affecting the country and a bunch of spouses murdering their dearly beloved fills page after page, airwaves and bandwidth to bulging.

And as the Issue Platform groans and sags beneath the ever growing pile of Issues dumped upon it daily, the keyboard experts and specialists rub their hands in glee and jump in.  Before you know it, a shared post about so called 'students' smashing a venerable, and valuable, education property has been hijacked by social media trolls and insults between the commentators fly like horse dung. The main Issue is trampled under foul, abusive language thrown around by people who don't know each other at all, let alone well enough to have an opinion of the other's intellect, social standing, upbringing, morals and beliefs. Which doesn't hold people back for a minute from publicly airing their views and judgement about someone they have never, nor will ever, meet.

It's the very lowest form of discourse, yet grows like a horrid virus.  Even the Issues have Issues now, nothing ever seems to be resolved and removed from the pile as we build a wobbly Tower of Babel.

Please, for the love of all that we hold dear, can we Stop, Pause, Touch and Re-engage?  Quietly, politely and respectfully?  As any veteran of marital strife will tell you, shouting at and over each other doesn't sort out issues, it just leaves the combatants hoarse and exhausted.  (Maybe those murderous spouses realised this and chose a more active option?!)


Don't get me wrong - I love living somewhere that has real issues to solve.  It's just the infinite number that continue on and on, growing little issues of their own like pimples upon carbuncles, that are getting me down at the moment.

No wonder there's no room for happy stories, the Issue Platform bulges sky high.  And deep down I KNOW that what is out there on the Issue Platform, like the protesting students, is a fraction of what is really going on day to day. There are good, generous hearted people getting on with their lives and being kind to those around them.  Bank clerks and mechanics who go the extra mile. Car guards who beam cheerfully as they help unload into your car a staggering amount of groceries they couldn't afford in a month of Sundays. The warmth of the Police sergeant eager to show off his K9 partner's skills. 

Anyhow, with that all off my chest and seeing as it's Friday, and I really, really want to begin the weekend with a smile, here's a chirpy song especially for you from the awesome Pharrell Williams.  If this doesn't cheer you up and get you smiling and bopping, there is just no hope!

Happy weekend everyone.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6Sxv-sUYtM

Home Town Through Outsider Eyes

It has to be said that we see more of many of our far-flung network of friends and family now that we live in a little, out-of-the-way town than we ever did when we lived in the big smoke.

Jacaranda season - Chief Mgiyeni Khumalo street becomes a lilac dell

Some, bless them, make the journey east over the escarpment specially to see us but an astonishingly large portion visit the area regularly anyway, and naturally drop in to while away an hour or a few days with us.

Lekker! (an Afrikaans word difficult to translate but usually uttered with glee, approbation and a great deal of satisfaction.  You get the drift.) Our home at times has a revolving door, spitting out ex-pat-now-Australians as it envelops Joburgers. Along with a birdsighting list, we should have an Origins list, which this year alone includes Australians, Yanks, Brits, Joburgers, Durbanites and more ranging from 11 years of age to 77 and with diverse interests. 

And that's before we include the guests we've hosted in our small accommodation venture, so you can imagine the bustle of busyness in which we live. Exhausting indeed but always so special to retie those friendship knots more firmly and to meet an assortment of lovely people for the first time.

Water, agriculture and town all in one view

The second duty of hosting after ensuring guests are comfortably ensconced with a glass of wine is, of course, to play area travel guide.  Kruger, naturally, generally tops the list (but if ONE more visitor returns with tales of seeing the Big 5 before lunch, travelling the same road we've driven ruts into in our regular vain attempts to do the same, they will check out sooner than planned!)

And going to Mbombela Stadium to watch rugby will never be the same again after watching SA-Argentina with the Karlsson mob, supplemented by running into a few of Him Outdoors' old rugby mates who'd travelled all the way from Hartebeespoort to support the Boks.

Unexpectedly, it was the Wobblie's eating and drinking tour of White River town that opened our eyes to the lovely places under our noses that we haven't popped into yet.  Dad's honeymoon with Val had us in stitches, as the Lovebirds posted photograph after photograph onto Facebook (yes, really!) of them washing samoosas down with a craft beer at Phat Boys and buying game pies, game pate and naartjie preserve at Carmel (which they swear has the best cake in town). Until they went to Sip and were entranced by the Alice in Wonderland decor and decadent pastries.

And it wasn't just the gourmand offerings, either. Rae Kirton from Dynamic Vision spent ages repairing Dad's spectacles and refused to charge.  Overall, the travelling Wobblies fell head over heels in love with White River.  The people, the friendliness they encountered everywhere, the beauty, pace of life and the myriad of special little offerings, nooks and crannies that make up the town.  They commented on how clean the main street was and how much they enjoyed being able to wander on foot from one coffee shop to the next, browsing at all the shops in between.

Listening to their excited recounting of the day's adventures every evening for a week was a sharp reminder about how easily we are blinkered to our closest surrounds.  It's time to ramp out of the rut and utilise more of what's in our backyard instead of travelling the same old path.


  


    

Groundhog Day on the Bucket List

Long before the phrase 'bucket list' was coined, I had a list - places I wanted to visit and experiences to have before shuffling off this mortal coil. There's nothing unusual about having a list nor the choices on mine:
Zanzibar
Cuba (before McDonalds and Holiday Inn get there)
Morocco
The Camargue
Russia
The Great Migration (particularly a hot air balloon trip above it)
Sossusvlei 
Mexico
Tunisia
Turkey
Antarctica
Norwegian Fjords by boat
Northern Lights
Okavango swamps and delta
Madagascar
Goa

Way back in 2003, Zanzibar got a look in when travel companies started pushing it as the destination de jour. So off we went, a friend and I, and oh, my, Zanzibar delivered everything imagination had conjured up, and more, soaring way above expectations.  How delicious it was to tick off a listed item and discover it went beyond what was hoped.

What more natural decision, then, to want to share this treasure with Him Outdoors and honeymoon there in 2005?  Life Lesson number 4876 - never, ever revisit a ticked off list destination, disappointment is sure to follow. 

Ferocious marketing of package tours during the intervening two years had changed the atmosphere.  No longer were we frequently accosted in Stonetown by eager locals, keen to shake hands, say 'Jambo' and welcome us to Zanzibar with no further expectations than just welcoming friendliness.  Now, constantly buffeted by salesmen and panhandlers, the final straw was Him Outdoors being scolded by an elderly lady one evening when out for a stroll.  It was far too dangerous for Mzungus to be in the streets of Stonetown after dark, she said. Drugs had established themselves on the island and desperate people would knife you for a fix.  Innocence lost.

Now, before you strike the island from your list, don't.  It's awesomeness outweighs the consequences of an influx of outsiders.  The beaches, diving, historic places of interest and sheer beauty are hard to match elsewhere.  The point is this - once you've visited a longed for destination, tick it off and don't return, it will never be the same.

Back to the list.  The second item to be crossed off was Tanzania's Serengeti National Park during the migration and again, it lived up to expectations despite our not being lucky enough to witness a river crossing.  My heart was truly sore when we left, though. Somehow it didn't feel like enough and a little part of my soul remained behind on the savannah.

How lucky am I?  Him Outdoors got a contract in Kenya so in 2015 we watched the migration from the other side of the border.  We've just relished our second in-season trip to the Maasai Mara, returning to loll in the magnificent luxury of Spirit of the Masai Mara lodge and yet again, their Maasai guide delivered us into the core of the Mara.  We couldn't want for more, getting up close and personal with lion, cheetah, hyena, leopard, jackal, elephant...you name it, we saw it and were lucky enough to have many sightings to ourselves where we could just sit and watch the behaviour rather than tick off the mammal sighting list and move on.

And like the previous two visits to East Africa's magnificent spectacle, a little bit of my soul was left behind and I'm already counting the days til we can return.

What hope of clearing the bucket list now when I'm so happily reliving the same experience over and over? What happened to Rule 4876?!

Maasai Mara Road Mechanics

The scene could be anywhere in the African bush.  A group of people leaning back into well-worn canvas chairs, icy beer in hand and booted feet casually resting near the flames of a wood fire.  Overhead, gazillions of stars blink like crystals nestling on a blanket of plush velvet. The deep exhalations of sheer contentment push thoughts of anything outside the circle of presence as far away as can be.

And then it begins.  Landrover vs Landcruiser with everyone firmly in one of the camps, for life. There is absolutely no room for fence sitters in this debate, ever, and there's definitely no option to select Nissan, Mercedes or even Porsche (snigger!)

Toyota have the lead on bumper stickers, memes and spare wheel covers, cheekily nose thumbing Landrover's reputation for breakdowns and yes, we've certainly chortled at our Rover friends many mechanical failure experiences. Although truth be told (shush, don't tell Him Outdoors I've let this out of the bag!) our Cruiser was once pulled out of deep Mozambique sand by a Range Rover...   

East Africa, in finest Colonial tradition, is Landrover country.  Or was.  A veritable Pearl Harbour assault on the motor industry is making inroads for the Japanese Johnny-come-latelies. But the iconic square nose and body of Landrover still covers the plains in droves.

If you follow this blog, you'll know that very few of our travels are breakdown-free and the latest Maasai Mara adventure didn't let us down, although we weren't in our own vehicle or even driving!

Barrelling along in the Landrover towards Sekanani Gate after a long, twelve hour day filled with exciting sights and experiences, our minds were saturated with colour, dust, noise and the overwhelming sensation of watching Mother Nature in high resolution. Conversation ebbed and eyelids struggled to stay at full mast until a weird 'cluck cluck cluck' rattled us out of inertia.

Rumbling to a halt, the XY Chromosomes exited and assumed serious expressions of concern as they clustered around the front end.  Apparently some split pin thingy had broken and fallen off, meaning a crucial nut followed and now the right front wheel was gaily following it's own track, completely oblivious to the demands of either it's partner wheel or the steering apparatus.  Whoopsie!


Safari vehicles rushing past to make the gate deadline were flagged down and asked for parts while some of our lot hiked down the road looking for the nut (yes, I know, it was a long shot!) One helpful passerby produced a hooked bungy cord and, in true African style, within minutes a repair plan was made and we were off.

Africa - this is why we live here. 

Nutters searching for a nut!

It was quite disappointing, really, as an enormous herd was making its way towards us and, with plenty of picnic left and warmly lined ponchos we could have made a night of it in the Mara.  But another rule of Africa is that the adventurous prospect of an unplanned camp-out is only going to happen accompanied by a beer.  And our coolerbox was empty of Tusker!  Soon rectified when we got through the gate, however, with a pitstop at Rex's Bar for everyone to celebrate the latest escapade with a brew.  And to reminisce about the last time we were in that same Landrover, which failed to start just minutes away from a lion sighting.  

Would have been a perfect campsite, those herds were moving...

Times change and this particular Landie is about to be replaced by a Landcruiser, and Japanese efficiency will deplete us of some wonderful tales to tell.