Roots and Rhythms - Ebbing and Flowing

I started writing this in November 2012.  Unfinished, it has languished in my drafts folder, but I think it deserves to see the light of day!

Driving on the neat road into the College, surrounded by eucalyptus plantations, the buzz of cicadas filling the air; I'm struck by the realisation that this is not a journey of sadness, but one of deep comfort.

The familiar sight of the Headmasters Volvo heading towards me, and a cheery wave from another mother as she passes, bring a flash of insight - Robert has stepped onto the next stage of his life, but this is by no means the end of belonging to the school family.

The school will continue in it's busy yet familiar rhythm.  Uplands remains untouched and unchanged as the flow of students passes in and then out of its gates.  They change.  The parents change.  The school, however, remains a reassuringly strong and immovable presence at the heart of the community.

What a wonderful feeling of relief and comfort this is.  The swirling elements of change that dictate the world around us, engendering a disturbing insecurity and fear of "what next?" have no place here.

No matter what happens, the rolling grounds, filled with indigenous plants, trees and bushes playing host to water mongoose, duiker, monkeys and a huge variety of birds, amongst others, will continue to grow and develop in their own natural rhythm, encouraged and supported by forward thinking school management and parents.

The sturdy buildings will be added to, and finally perhaps even the Chapel, its temporary duty as a science lab done, will revert to it's designated function.  The well used joke among the school fraternity - our chapel teaching the theory of evolution - still wrings chuckles and wry smiles.

15th April 2013

In a world where instant, trending, disposable, new and different appear to drive the herd, it is comforting and heartwarming to know that some things will remain constant and familiar.

Of course, within the walls, change will occur.  But the things that matter, the ethics, morals, standards, warmth, welcome and acceptance, the drive to educate and to learn, the will to nurture not only leaders, but a youth that is eager to go out there and make a difference to the world around them, will remain.

Firmly anchored to the rock that is Uplands Schools, and the many other schools and institutions out there, our children are safely secured and capable. The world is filled with aged and impressive schools, colleges and cathedrals, their commanding presence felt by all who pass by.  Fret not - the chattering classes, media and social twitterati notwithstanding, our kids have everything they need to grow and develop through the exciting new phases of their lives.  

And best of all, the roots that secure and anchor them will always be there, changing yet unchanged.

Grey Folds of Skin in the Dust

Like many, I feel sure that time is moving faster, and that a month, indeed a minute, is no longer the same stretch of time that it was in the last century.  

What else could explain 2013 already reaching mid April, and we've barely caught our breath and got our act together post Christmas and summer hols?  

Where did the annual milestones like Valentine's Day, Easter, the switch to Southern Hemisphere Autumn and the first scholastic term disappear to?  I'm too busy to mourn my empty nest; writing deadlines are causing blood pressure issues and I feel as though I'm a rag doll swirling around in a cyclone - not touching sides, always dashing from one commitment to another, falling behind with 'things to do' on the dreaded lists that vainly attempt to keep my life in order.  A last ditch effort to control my body before it reaches implosion point has also done little more than add stress lines and an elevated heart rate - due to falling behind and not being able to keep up with the internet Boot Camp's  daily exercises and dietary tips, hence another failure!

You may well laugh, but  middle age spreading is scary - resembling perfectly the bread making process.  First, some solid and basic ingredients are tossed into a bowl.  Lots of kneading and punching later, a much needed rest reveals...the dough doubled in size!!  That's kinda like my 40's - loads of activity just ended in a soft, doughy, pudgy mass, oozing into a dress size several sizes larger.

Anyhow, onto more interesting observations - grey folds of skin, bulging, rotund, just begging to be embraced. Not a cuddly elephant -  Adansonia digitata - the magnificent Baobab tree. Baobabs are the plant kingdom's elephant, and there are plenty here in Tete.  They're everywhere, in all silhouettes and sizes, each one succulent and rounded. For me, their striking outline has become as much a symbol of Africa as the giraffe silhouetted against a sunset. 

Enormous, bold, voluptuous, striking in their magnificence, commanding attention and awe.  Did you know that they can reach 30 metres high and have trunks 11 metres in diameter?  Some specimens are rumoured to be thousands of years old, but that's hard to verify, as the wood doesn't have annual growth rings.  Ascertaining the age of a Baobab would have to be done by radiocarbon dating.

Besides the expected use of tree parts - fruit, leaves, wood, mankind have found some more unusual uses.  A baobab near Derby, Western Australia, was used as a prison when transporting prisoners!  In South Africa, big specimens have been turned into pubs or used as hiding places for entire families in times of war and unrest.

The San have a beautiful legend about the Baobab.  They say that the Great God, Glaoan, climbed a tree to pluck a fruit.  The tree, to tease him, lifted it's branches higher and higher, keeping the fruit out of reach.  In a fury, he created a tempest which ripped the tree from the earth and flung it skywards. It landed upside down, roots exposed, and has remained this way ever since.  If you haven't read Candi Miller's 'Kalahari Passage', do yourself a favour and do so.  Her gripping read, a political love story / thriller will both enthrall and horrify you as you sit up all night reading, unable to put it down.  But it's the detailed description of San life, culture, legend and history that keeps the pages turning as fast as they can.

I've seen the trees in full leaf and dressed in winter bareness, but have yet to see the flowers.  I can't wait. The baobab's white flowers are pollinated at night by bats, and apparently, inside the hard coconut-like shell of the velvety green fruit are seeds coated in powder that is sharp and tangy to taste, the powder being used in food and drinks.

I say apparently, because we still haven't managed to crack open the baobab fruit I collected last month.  It has withstood assault from assorted weapons - Alan's huge survival knife, my less impressive kitchen assortment, even my dad had a go with a vice, hacksaw and various scary implements dug out of his garage - to no avail.  In frustration I banged the damn thing against my head, and regretted that tantrum - it hurt!  Clearly, these things open when they are ready and meant to, and mankind's attempts to interfere with it's natural order are scorned!

Anyhow, the tree is fascinating and each specimen intrigues.  Like the one down the road, wide trunk split open to reveal the large termite hill growing inside it!  Or the blasted tree we saw in Malawi, clearly the victim of a lightning strike, looking for all the world like a Welwitschia, or discarded banana peel.

These silent giants, grey and ghost like, covered in the infernal Tete dust, reassure that Africa endures.  Long after the coal mines are emptied here, the trees will remain.  And that's a good reminder that do as we might, nature will merely nod her head and patiently survive.

THE NATURAL RHYTHMS LOST IN URBAN DEVELOPMENT

Three weeks spent in a Mozambican beach village brought the realisation sharply home – we’ve lost the plot.  Completely.  And we’re too full of our own supposed magnificence to even realise it!

South Africans are so lucky to have marvellous Moz on our doorstep – we can drive to places every bit as exotic and wonderful as the indulgent, exotic beach brochures from the Caribbean or the Philippines that we’ve ever sighed over.  Sand as soft and fine as icing sugar; blood warm, translucent water in endless shades of cool blues, turquoise and pale green.  Sun that greets you every morning without fail, and the heat.  Oh, the heat – it sucks the breath out of your body in an involuntary gasp.

Happy and Gentle Mozambicans

The gifts graciously provided by Mother Nature are perfectly balanced by the happy and gentle Mozambicans themselves.  Yes, we run in with the execrable officials, from the minute we arrive at the border, the dreaded dash through Maputo and the long journey up coast on the EN1.  Not to mention the beach police on their dinky quad bikes or lounging about in the sad little offices that seems to be the lot of port officials.

It’s rather amusing the way that South Africans, ruled in a supremely controlled manner for 40 years, bang heads and shriek in rage at the communist style of Mozambique officialdom.  You’d think we’d be used to it, but clearly not.  And yes, frustration barely begins to describe the red mist that boils up when a neatly uniformed and hatted figure steps into your path.  Admit it, who HASN’T briefly thought of pushing the accelerator to the floor...

Putting the bad eggs and self important government employees aside for another day, the Mozambicans we meet and interact with during our holidays are the friendliest, warmest people imaginable.  Always ready to chat to tourists, proudly sharing the treasures of their villages and simply enjoying a cheerful moment with visitors.

Their serene and dignified manner, evident pride in their country and supreme comfort in just being – whatever their financial and living circumstances - totally at ease with themselves, is in stark contrast to the rather manic manner of the average visitor.

Natural Rhythm and Flow

We recently survived our second matric ‘experience’ and an icy 2M or several, slurped down while we watched the to-ings and fro-ings of the villagers on the beach at Inhassoro brought into sharp focus the idiocy of the urbanised world rat race. The villagers have a natural rhythm and pattern of daily life that just flows along at its own pace.

It’s patently obvious that we can’t all pack a rucksack, sell the earthly possessions, head off for the wilderness and home school our kids, whilst living off nature’s bounty. 

But we can take note of and learn from the stability of the simple community life unfolding around us.  The feeling of reassurance radiating from the villagers, of a place for everyone, and everyone in their place.  The human conveyor belt, hauling in the fishing nets every day, utilizing at least three generations of men and boys, has the dependability of a daily chore performed across the ages. 

Each team member has a role, and the assurance that over time, their role within the team would change, but they know how and when.

The grandparents know what their descendents will be doing far into the future and how.  The children know what their lives will look like.  Secure in the familiar, the community lives and thrives contentedly. 

What about Our Future?

Meanwhile, we developed city dwellers frantically search for our children’s place in the future.  What, where, when, how – we can’t keep up with rapid fire technology, and the new jobs and lifestyles the changes bring.  We can’t visualise how our children will live, let alone our grandchildren.  We stress about distinctions and tertiary education, and heaven forbid our children should want to become bus drivers or deliver pizza!

When climate change threatens food supplies, fossil fuels run out, financial systems collapse - how will we live?  These things have moved beyond science fiction horror movies and into our daily lives NOW.

Despite spending a not-so-small fortune on a range of fishing rods and accessories to suit every possible type of fishing, Him Outdoors has yet to catch a single fish, meaning that when the supermarket shelves are empty, my family will be starving!  (I’m not supposed to tell you about his legendary casting abilities, snaring first a duck in Dullstroom, and more recently a Fish Eagle at Cahorra Bassa!)

And yet for some odd reason, we feel superior to the self sufficient, confident and assured communities living so simply.  It’s true they don’t have wall sized plasma screens, huge vehicles with long range fuel tanks, enormous houses in which only about 25% of the floor space is really used – neither do they have the anxiety about getting, securing and keeping this stuff!

Remote or Helicopter?

We don’t have the time to share knowledge, experience or stories with our sprogs – and even if we get home before they’ve gone to bed, who wants to untangle each family member from iPads, satellite television, internet and social media to exchange token grunts of interest?

The flip side to that scenario is, of course, helicopter parenting.  Guilt driven, we micromanage every moment of junior’s life, preventing self discovery and exploration and not teaching him that it’s ok to briefly  stand still, entranced by a small moment.

That’s not to say cellular communication and road transport haven’t been eagerly embraced by little villages across the globe – these innovations and advances have made life immeasurably easier for millions. 

You want more?

But what they’ve understood, and we’ve missed totally, is that innovations and advances are there to add a small amount of comfort and convenience, not to take over and colonise our lives!  Our obsession with being number one, and having it all, is removing spontaneity and joy from life.

Doing our best is good enough, no matter where that leaves us on the list. Fulfilment lies in living in the now and being aware of what and who is around you.  Having sufficient is plenty, anymore than that is just a waste, and bearing in mind that we currently require SEVEN planets to sustain us now, why would you keep holding your hand out for more? 

Sublimely Local

Local-Lish-Us hosted their second seasonal lunch yesterday, and what a follow on event it was!  

The crowd grew from 80 to nearly 130, the noise level rose accordingly (Poor Kate - brandishing her arm cast in an attempt to be heard, it was touch and go as to whose head it would fall upon!)

Eager beavers started arriving an hour before the advertised starting time, and earlier than expected we began manning the welcome desk and checking guests in.  Hilton, with impish glee, appointed himself the pourer of welcome drinks, filling glasses and extolling the virtues of the delicious locally brewed ginger beer and assorted Rottcher Winery flavoured wines.  We are very lucky to have local booze producers, how would White River function on Sabie Valley coffee alone?!

As usual, many laughs were had as the team, under Tamar's expert guidance, trimmed ivy leaves into hearts, laid the tables and scattered assorted leaves amongst the place settings.  Interesting herbs were pushed into old gin bottles (what sort of person collects old gin bottles?  and why does K.., er, she, have so many empty gin bottles?  hmmmm!)  

Proving himself man enough to keep up with the girlz, Hilton got comfy on the tiles and cut leaves with the best of us, then was exceedingly useful setting up the drinks and being the bar's first customer. Viv, claiming zero creativity, proved otherwise by painstakingly arranging leaves about the place.

And then they poured in, astonishingly punctual, so that by 1 o'clock we'd corralled the guests into the extended dining room and verandas, and the serving crew could begin the task of serving up the baby marrow quiche.

The concept of place, rather than table, booking, and seating people at long tables as they arrive, has taken off in a big way.  Perhaps many of the guests are missing their boarding school years, but rubbing shoulders and chatting away to strangers, who soon become interesting people whose details are entered into the assortment of iPhones, Samsungs and the reducing number of Blackberries (very out, I'm told) appears to come easily to space conscious South Africans, all of whom seem very glad to extend their circle to new acquaintances.

Bee Eaters lived up to expectations - a beautiful venue, with something for everyone.  Guests slurped up the food and cleared out the buffet, and sharp eyed arrivals noted the many European Bee Eaters lining the fence alongside the entrance.

A tribe of young 'uns ranging from 8 weeks (had Filo in full Gogo mode, and many others drooling) to 15 picnicked, ran riot, jumped to distraction on the jumping castle, and eventually discovered the stream and dam.  Thankfully, the scorching weather held and the kids splashed to their hearts content.

Competing with baby Isla was the 8 week old Beagle pup.  The women were pretty evenly divided on whether it was a new puppy or baby they hankered for.  None wanted both! 

It was an astonishingly broad  selection of tasty food; spinach and trout pie being my favourite, but the free range lamb looked juicy and tender, the oven roasted organic veges went down well, and by the time I'd got to the mango dessert, and macademia brittle icecream, not much was left!  

Which was a good thing, as no tummy room remained for the range of local cheeses and preserves.  An aromatic cup of local coffee completed a long, leisurely paced meal and it was with heavy eyes my feet moved my groaning body down the steps and into the car, beginning the drive home.

Quite how we'll come up with a third event to top the two we've already had, I don't know.  But the creative and energetic Local-Lish-Us team will undoubtedly pull another (local, and seasonal) bunny out of the (local) straw sunhat.  

Book Stores - To E or not To E...

I love walking into bookstores.  The smell of fresh, unturned pages, redolent with hot ink and the plantations, pine resin and sunshine.  It's as if the air resonates; the vibration of words, knowledge, entertainment and enlightenment tingling every sense as I enter through the door.

Exclusive Books have my number, and are onto a good wicket with my Fanatics card.  I relished a trip to their emporium today, clutching sixty rands worth of vouchers to spend. 

I've looked forward to this treat all week, Cheshire cat grin in place.  What a win, they sent ME some vouchers to blow on books!

Lets ignore what I spent in that shop to get these vouchers in the first place, and just look forward to the expedition and browsing.

Nearly an hour later, I exit, arms groaning under the weight of 3 'must have's' that proved irresistible.  And burned my credit card for a further R460 AFTER the precious vouchers were surrendered and redeemed!

Personally, I believe that hell has a special level for the marketeers who dreamed up the 'loyalty' programmes I love so much.  Not only are they securely pocketing a substantial sum out of my monthly pay packet as I loyally shop their emporiums to earn the points, but  they issue reward vouchers knowing full well the impossibility of my spending only what they are giving!  A sucker bet which many of us fall for.

Tree Hugging - eReaders

It is mindboggling, though, to wander through the bookstores.  So many books, so much choice, and this only a skant fraction of what is out there. A veritable rainforest flattened, making reading a guilty pleasure for greenies.

An eReader?  Not for me, not right now, at any rate.  In no particular order, my reasons -

- see my opening paragraph - eReaders don't have the feel or smell of printed books.

- the 'romantic' experience of snuggling up in one of the bookshop chairs, perusing the selection of books before deciding on the final choice - not gonna happen electronically.  Even if eClusive Books turns into an electronic book version of Musica, that'll just turn book buying into the same clinical experience as buying CD's is.

- as you'll have guessed from the above, yes, I AM a Luddite!  No, I don't have an iPod, either.

- something else I have to worry about securing, dropping, leave lying around?  No one is going to steal the book I leave on my seat in the restaurant...

- can I read it in the bath? (OK, to be honest, now that reading glasses are essential, not by choice, the happy evenings spent engrossed in a book whilst wallowing in candlelit suds are pretty much gone.  Until the genius who invented a pen that can write upside down on the moon can make glass lenses that don't steam up!)

- how do I share the books that were special reads to me, with my friends, if we aren't all electronically sync'ed?  Even if we all get onstream eventually, emailing a link just won't be the same as lovingly handing over a beloved book!

- maybe the tree cost of a e-book is nil, but how about the minerals dug out of the earth for the electronics?  And the electricity to run it?

eReaders have their place, but are a long way from making any sort of inroads into tree conservancy by replacing printed matter.


Libraries

Join a library - most towns have them, and the more support they get from ratepayers, the less chance of them slowing dying away, as they seem to be doing.

A sign of the times when I recently eturned to the small town I grew up in was seeing the beautiful old library building now converted to a Boxer grocery warehouse, complete with razor wire and cruddy advertising signage for cheap products. 

My heart broke to see the shabby disrespect shown to the grand building I'd haunted during my school years.  Catching the bus into town to spend hours in the research section for homework, declaring and having stamped the 4 books I could legally borrow, and hiding the extra 2 or 3 in my bundled up school sweater.  4 books were swiftly despatched in as many days, I needed back up for the rest of the week!

Now litter blows around the majestic steps, and a pile of rags against the corner defines the living place of someone homeless.

Second Hand Bookshops

I can't think of any better place to stock up, at reasonable prices, a suitcase full of detective and mystery novels, easy beach reading and something light and easily forgotten.  The shelves filled with books by authors you've never heard of, a reminder again of the sheer volume of printed reading material published and plonked on the planet. 

Making this my stop for the bulk of my books goes a long way towards offsetting the carbon footprint of my addiction.  For anything specific, I love online shopping.

I've learned, over the years, what to expect from my local second hand bookstore, but sometimes, Ingrid has a surprise or two for me.  Delving into the biography section before going away on holiday, I scooped up and treasure a range of books, from Mamphela Ramphele's 'A Life' to Richard McCann's 'Just a Boy' - great reads and a fantastic feeling of having unearthed some hidden jewels.

I'm not alone in this, either.  Digging through the book exchange in Inhassoro, Mozambique, the first book I laid my hands on was stamped 'White River Book Exchange' - clearly her customer base travels broadly!

Bookclub

This is a challenging category to write about.  Bookclubs are largely formed by groups of women, who could be friends in their daily routine, or who may just enjoy a knees up together once a month.

What goes on at bookclub usually stays at bookclub, but without revealing many secrets, the evening generally has very little to do with books.  Those are sorted out, swopped, passed around and discussed in the dying moments of the meeting, as we scratch in oversized Guess bags for our car keys, and decide who hosts next month.

I have to say, though, that thanks to my fab bookclub I've discovered South African authors (and am eternally indebted to Amy for this), and in an effort to provide for Kay's detective mania, discovered Karen Rose. It also meant that I got the chance to give up Eat, Pray, Love in disgust, without having actually bought the book.

I can't imagine bookclub, the electronic version.  What - no heavy boxes of books to lug from host to host?  No index cards with comments (helps to remember whether you read the book or not)? No testing of interesting new recipes?

In fact, the greatest reason of all on the FOR printed books side, is the thought of eBook Club - a group skype session, each in our own homes, sending links across the ether. 

Drinking alone is a slippery slope...even if it was your monthly, remote, bookclub meet!
 

TAP'ed out - To Alex, with Love

It finally hit home as we left the business manager's office in the bank this morning. 

Months in discussion, endless checklists and soul searching, but today, after signing a multitude of documents, the final steps were taken and Tracy Anne Promotions became Alex's.

Well, not quite yet.  CIPC has to rubber stamp the CK2 paperwork we sent off registered mail today.  But still, we're done.

The tsunami of emotion hit from behind and klapped me on the back of the head as we exited the bank.  The little company I'd started up 10 years ago is no longer part of my life. 

The confident woman, very precisely instructing the SME business manager as to exactly what she wanted him to do; steadfastly declining his eager sales pitch to increase his revenue and push TAP's already ludicrously high banking fees through the roof, is no longer part of it.  The inky scribbles have removed my powers and relevance, and with a few pen strokes I'm both unemployed and disenfranchised.

Standing in the hot sunlight, fighting back the tears, I realised how special my NOT so little company is.  Sure, we don't have a large staff complement.  Our turnover is just below the BEE threshold, we don't manufacture or sell gazillions of gizmo's or gadgets, and outside of our niche industry, no one has ever heard of us, or even considered that what we do constitutes a business.

Started up and run from home; only bothering to make up and posh up if I had clients to see.  Stumbling along, dealing with crises and developments as they happened, a 1 woman show for 5 years.  It never actually dawned on me that this is a proper company, an achievement to be proud of.

The progression from crawling to striding forward happened so quietly, almost unconsciously, that the years slipped by: along the way more and more staff were hired, a logo and a website developed, additional phone lines installed, Walton's raided for stationery, and office supply stores for furniture. 

Eventually, with 5 of us, leave forms and various protocols had to be developed.  Staff meetings.  Christmas parties - half day spa's in the country! Way better than restaurant lunches!   

Alex gently reminded me once that I was wearing my slippers when she came over for her job interview!  Well, it was a cold July day in Jozi, the slate floor maintaining a temperature slightly above that of the black frost which had savaged the garden. And frankly, I was always so lost in work, thoughts of projecting a professional image rarely entered my head. I was too busy to realise that I was not properly dressed!

But our little company grew and grew, punching well above it's weight.  We earned the respect of service providers, centre management and clients for our friendly, cheerful integrity, professionalism, hard work and "can do" attitude.  Our competitors loathed us, we made them look sloppy and unethical.  Our ethos - do it right, the first time.  And if things go wrong, fix them first, and fast; fight about the cause afterwards.

Herbal nerve drops on hand for those difficult days; tissues, shoulders and tea always on tap.  Celebrations were plentiful - sometimes for landing a new, exciting client or campaign, sometimes for good news on the staff personal front, mostly, just because it felt like a great day for a surprise muffin and bubbly treat.  Push our chairs back, put our feet up and listen to the noise volume go through the roof!

Strangely, my joy and zest for the business dropped as the turnover and profit increased. 

Confiding this to my friend Janice, she astutely put her finger directly on the button. 

Four eager beavers were going out and getting new business signed up, whilst I worked diligently on the things I loathe - the strangling spaghetti of small business red tape: annual returns, BEE certification, vat, payments....only emerging from under the felled forest of officialdom and engaging with the actual business when one of the team came to me with a disaster they couldn't rescue themselves. 

Thanks, Cookie, you have no idea how many times that analysis supported me when all seemed dark!

My role changed from going and doing, to encouraging and watchdogging.  For years, I was continually nagging the team to get a Green / Enviro expo going - we tried, so many times, with little success.  Ahead of our time, but that failure still rankles.

And as my shoulders broadened and skin thickened, clients and creditors alike learned to treat us with the same respect we offered them.  The watchdog barked!

"And now, the time has come...the final curtain..."  Thanks Frank S!

I'm proud to hand TAP over to Alex. Her gentle grace brings a dimension my stroppy toughness lacked - we were the best partners imaginable.  I refuse to wish her good luck - as much as I believe in fate, angels, circles and connections, there is no way that a simple twist of chance is going to make a success of TAP for her. 

Her single minded dedication and commitment, fanatical organising skills, positive outlook and absolute passion for what she does will expand, change and improve the company immeasurably.  And hopefully, the Green/ Enviro and Golden Oldie themes will eventually come to pass!

Alex, it's been an honour and a privilege to work with you. Without you, I wouldn't have the opportunity to follow my next dream - you've made it happen. 

This one's for you, kid.  Thank you. xx

Through The Looking Glass Of A Friend's Eyes

As we slide the final few feet into Christmas, I thought that I'd leave you with some positive food for thought in my last blog of 2012.

The internet is abuzz with the symmetry of it being 12-12-12  and my good friends Anne and Trevor  celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary today, so it is truly a special occasion and a good note to end off on.

I'm definitely not unique nor special, and assume that most women will feel as I do about their bodies.  Right now - uuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh.

The feeding frenzy started in June, when the dream holiday and endless parties began.  The holiday came to an end, the parties petered out, but sadly for my aching bones, the noshing and guzzling of booze didn't slow down for a minute.

I'm feeling decidedly sorry for myself, as I pack my duffel bag ready to jet off to Moz next week.  Not much left in the cupboard that fits, and even less that looks good.  And completely NO point in trying to rectify six months of overindulgence in a few days, with Christmas and 2M by the bucketload on the horizon.

Sigh.

I've dusted off the Low GI eating plan, I'll have to get around to reading that in January.  Something has to work- the minor blips in the orgy of food and booze that denoted small signs of denial in the past few months made nary a dent in my butt, stomach or thighs. 

Double sigh.

My frantic attempts to self comfort with a chilled glass of wine and lashings of Chocolate Rum cake, or whatever else is in the fridge, have not made me feel one jot better about the boys leaving home.  Now I'm stuck with grieving that, AND self loathing.  Life is sucky, sometimes.

So, in my eternal quest to find the 'bright side of life', I'm revisiting a lightbulb moment I've had a few times over the past few years.

Friends.

Could we do without them?  No.  Are they always there, through thick or thin, hot or cold, richer or poorer?  Yes, indeed.  (funny, they fulfill marriage vows better than spouses, and friendships last lifetimes, whilst marriages often don't.  I digress, sorry)

The absolutely best thing about friends is the looking glass of their eyes.  Test it for yourself.  Think of your best friend.  Notice her close set eyes, her cellulite, double chin, thin and lacklustre hair, wobbly arms.

See it?  Yes.  In the same way that we notice an animal is a dog, not a cat or that someone is brunette or blonde, we do notice every detail of our friends appearance.  We notice them all, then are completely oblivious to the flaws, and only see the good things.

Her eyes are close set, but a stunning shade of green.  She has cellulite, but the warmest, most engaging smile and laugh. Double chin?  can't see it.  Etc.

Notice that the flaws she focusses on, that cause her self loathing and hours of unhappiness and dissatisfaction, YOU don't see.  Or care about. 

To you, your friend is the sum of all the many, special things that make you friends.  Her warmth, love, humour, kindness, loyalty, intelligence.  You admire her lovely hair, long legs, cooking talents.  The body flaws are completely ignored, overlooked and unimportant. 

And of course, she feels the same way about you.  She bemoans that your stomach is flatter, you are more creative and that you have better legs.  Does she see your batwing arms?  Frizzy hair?  Pouchy eyelids?  Not a damn.  She is focussing on the beauty spots, the uglies remain unseen.

My Christmas gift to you is the wish that you will see yourself through your friends eyes -

 - don't focus on the small flaws
 - admire the many beauty spots
 - see the bigger picture, holistically

Just for a few minutes, look realistically at yourself - as she does.  Find the special in you the way she can.  Feel the love.  And know that the real picture of you is not the one in your head, far from it.

Believe that you are the person your friend knows. 

Because you are.

Happy Christmas to one and all. May 2013 bring your dreams to fruition, good health, much love and an abundance of kindness and laughter your way.