A Tommie Blanket

Our Tommie-cat has died.

Suffice to say that there are currently very hostile feelings between us and that I'm counting the weeks until my kids can again safely ride their bikes in our (usually) very quiet, single-lane street in our (usually) very quiet residential estate.

 Tommie was my (okay, my son's) very first kitten. 

We got her as a rescue from the local SPCA for his 7th birthday after he's been pleading for months.  Although she was his, she was also mine, my constant companion during the mornings at home, following me and calling me if she didn't immediately see me, fighting with my hands when I folded laundry until I had to cage her with the laundry basket, walking round and round the edge of the bath, waiting for me to get out of the water (she fell in twice :-) ).  

She was such a bloody oulike cat.

But.  

The Unveiling of the Tombstone (it's a Thing in South Africa)
We planted a katjiepiering (gardenia) and catnip in the zinc bath.
He wrote a letter that was cellotaped to a stick and planted in there as well. 

So last week terrible Friday I started sorting my Vinnis and other cotton and bamboo yarn stash, putting together colours to use in a month or so when I would start working on summer blankets for the boys.  I decided to make a simple Granny Stripe for the Little One, as he already has a smallish Granny Square blanket.  As it is when sorting yarn and making Big Decisions like this, I thought I'd just start with a row or two, just to get an idea...you know...

And then the Horrible Afternoon happened, and we had a Cat Funeral, and took the boys to the beach to get them away, and I diverted my Little One's attention by telling him about his new blanket that I started that morning, and that he could remember Tommie when he cuddled under it and by the end of the day I was ten rows away and made promises of a crocheted kitty appliquéd on the blanket.  

SO here I am, hooking away on this one, shoving other plans and projects to the side. As usual, there is a Formula to my colour sequencing :-P

Meanwhile, I'll be scouring the universe for crochet kitty patterns to appliqué - feel free to point me in the right direction!

Tearfully, 

Stel

Cheap & Cheerful Crochet

We need to talk about privilege.

Allow me some ramblin' here, because it's been sitting at the back of my mind for quite while now.  It came to the fore again this past week as I followed Jack Monroe blog about her Live Below The Line Challenge - surviving on £1 a day for five days - as she used to do, scraping together balanced, nutritious meals for something like 17p for dinner, 12p for breakfast, using up the last wilted spring onion in her soup, diluting the juice from the canned peaches for a drink, stretching that one can over five days.

And yet we (I) can get so blasé over the origin of our coffee beans, the presentation of our food, how predator-friendly our lamb must be.

Privilege. 

In South Africa we have an ongoing, raging debate over (white) privilege (e.g. ) and the realisation whether you were/are privileged.  

I didn't grow up in an affluent home. Many months my parents were in their overdraft (privilege) within a week of payday.  Yet, there was no question that I would not attend university (privilege), albeit with the help of bank loans (privilege).  And once these were paid off by my dad's pension payout (privilege), I could continue with postgraduate studies where my Hons. and MSc degrees came basically free, courtesy of bursaries, research grants and the like (privileges galore). 

And then one (I) become so used to be studying/working in this milieu, that you (I) can forget that you're actually part of but a small group.  Same when you start travelling, or working as a registered professional. Your (my) privileges become so part of your (my) background, that you don't even realise it anymore. 

For me that realisation came when we returned to South Africa from Aus (privilege) and chose to buy a house  (privilege) in a less affluent area than where we previously lived.  We did this to afford me remaining a stay-at-home-mom (privilege), but still being able to buy the house we wanted, at half the price and triple the stand size compared to where we looked before.  There, many people I met weren't university (post)graduates.  Travel wasn't a taken-for-granted annual occurrence.  So very quickly my casual references to coffee shop this or Canada that or bought such and such or Scotland/HongKong/Nairobi what not became much more guarded, more thoughtful to where and when it may be raised.

Privilege.

While the more affluent acquaintances would raise their eyebrows at our choice of neighbourhood, choice of lifestyle :-0

Now, raking this topic all the way over to hooky - this can so easily happen over a crochet hook and a yarn of wool.  I'll be the first to admit that I do love my German Prym hook (not available in SA, but a very common buy at Kaufhof).  I love pure cotton Vinnis yarn, pure merino, or bamboo, something laced with silk,.  I go glassy-eyed at the sight of Malabrigo at my LYS, or Katia Cotton Jeans, or linen (priviliges ad infinitum)...but I will not shy away from a nice acrylic - and there ARE nice acrylics.  

Managing Ons Hekel, I came to realise that there many hookers who can't afford the lovely natural yarns exploding on the South African market, or who can't access it from their country towns/farms (our postal system is in a shambles).  Now, when you are constantly bombarded by others enthusing about the above, you can either strive to get your hands on one of these, or begin to feel resentful about the fact that so many other are boasting about it, or begin to feel embarrassed to show off your work, as you don't deem it to be of the same quality/to be as pretty.

And these are all valid, true bona fide remarks I have read on the group or received in my inbox.

Privilege dampening the experiences of others.

That is not something I would have wanted to read, that the joy of one would lead to the withdrawal of another.

It's all about the way one expresses oneself, isn't it?

Therefore I'll take even more care of my use of the term "squeak", because even though I might hate the feel of Mirage, it might also be the only yarn another woman can get in her town. Or someone else might actually love it.

Be a bit more mindful about the way I talk about yarns.

So, hand in  hand with our ongoing discussion on colour (the use of, the combinations of) on Ons Hekel, I decided the launch the Cheap & Cheerful Challenge, a challenge to make something real pretty from cheap acrylic yarn. To show that you CAN make a beautiful blanket with Charity. To show that you CAN avoid horrid colour combinations when you work with Chick. That it is not the end of the world if you choose to /are only able to work with Pullskein.

Off I went to my local Checkers supermarket to buy some Chick and this is more or less how far my own contribution is.

Just two colours, grey and denim blue

I promised a prize to the best contribution on the condition that to qualify the blanket then be donated to the Maak 'n Verskil group (Make a Difference).  I've already had pledges towards the prize and quite a few blankies have been started.  Looking forward to see what comes up!


Disclaimer -  I know that not everybody will agree with my train of thought and/or links between these...that's also fine -  the thought is mine.

PS (ed.) - I want to add on to Ale's comment below - she's residing in the neighbouring Mozambique; much less developed than RSA, much less availability of everything.  My South Africa has very different levels of living - you can experience this country as totally First World, or else totally, hopelessly Third World.  Within three, four km of my house there are squatter shacks, bush sleepers - but also houses with more bathrooms than people to use it.  There are people selling household stuff to get money to buy food, there's a guy driving the latest Ferrari.

What I'm saying is - don't feel guilty about buying great quality, expensive yarn...four balls of aforementioned Katia came to my house this week.  I'm just seeing this against the context of life around me, the things we can get so smug and boastful about - is it really that important?  It's not a bloody achievement.  

Just a privilege. 

My Mzansi 14/9 - Heritage Day and an Afrikaner boykie

They had to dress up in national or traditional dress, the letter from school said.  It had to be proper and dignified, otherwise just plain uniform, no civvies. 

So this mom had to come up with a plan, as we were not really raised with "traditional costumes" and the like.  The Afrikaner is such a mixed breed, and such a very young thrown-together nation, that we don't really have a...corporate identity, as such ;-)  Well, apart from wearing a Springbok rugby jersey (but that's for all South Africans), or Bafana soccer shirt (that too)...we might as well just wear a flag T-shirt like on Flag Friday!

But Heritage Day is actually a great day to celebrate your heritage and ancestry, and we have so much of that in South Africa.  Today, cashiers in various shops will be in their traditional wraps and make-up, I saw a Xhosa woman in a stunning modern version of  a blanket wrap, white dots over her face crossing the street. 

So...into the old photos I searched and came up with something resembling an Afrikaner boy of a couple of decades ago:

One pair of vellies (leather shoes) bought at the local cobbler.
One pair of khaki pants (or any other sturdy fabric, denim only came to SA much later)
One corduroy waistcoat (I managed to refashion a shirt !)
Hat for the sun

"Ik ben een Afrikaander"

How's that?

With slight changes here or there, he could also be Dutch, German, French, Belgian...all of which features in his ancestry, along with a smattering of Scottish and a few unknowns. 

(Before I came up with this outfit, I did briefly consider beach wear, as the first Pretorius here did serve as secundus and "sick-comforter" in Mauritius for three years before coming to the Cape of Good Hope in the 1660's!)

PS - anybody know the surname "Hunlun"?
We're still wondering about that, sources say it might be of Irish of German or Finnish  origin, most likely the spelling has been changed. 

My Mzansi 14/4 - 20 years

Today is Freedom Day.   Our democracy is 20 yrs old and we're celebrating it, but it's a hollow celebration.

Many things have changed - many for the better.

In 1994, I was a student. I had full post-grad scholarships. I got a job (and worked damn hard), built a house, bought others, moved overseas - came back, travel for leisure, my kids are in great schools.

For millions, nothing has improved.  

Those are the millions who had promises made to them - who still live in shacks, who still carry water in buckets, who still have no toilet, who still matriculate with a worthless education, who still can't get a job.

Our Waka had his promised RDP-house stolen from under his nose while patiently waiting for government - we helped him build his own and get access to agricultural land.

They were promised better schooling - between Waka and Liesbet 8 kids are attending schools where the union has an iron grip, and teachers are the ones loafing. At least we can help with stationary and books.  One is graduating from uni this year, one finished a diploma.

Our Nr 1 is building a R247 million mansion and claims not to be wasting money

These are the promise makers, and next week we'll have to vote for one of them:

Election Day - 7 May 2014

But don't fall in a pile of hopelessness!
(We're not :-)

Here's the great story of how we got our beautiful new flag.

Ps. Where were we pre-1994?

See these movies:

Cry, the beloved country

Sarafina!

The Bang-Bang Club

Living history

I don't have a very 'glamorous' family history in terms of buccaneering, rebelling, inventing, Great Trekkers and the like, just a couple of mainly Dutchmen  who got on the ship to Kaap de Goede Hoop, and French Hugenot, with sprinkles of German, Scotch, Malay and who knows what else thrown in.

But sometimes, out of the blue, you learn of an interesting thing that happened years and years ago...like my grandfather's brother who one day, left the house, never to return.  

They never heard of him again.  

I found that set of great-grandparents in a national family register, with one named son (not the walker), and "other children", but not those we know.

What happened there?

Ek het nie 'n vreeslik glorieryke familiegeskiedenis nie; nie seerowers, rebelle, uitvinders, Groot trekkers en so aan nie, meestal 'n paar Nederlanders wat per skip aan die Kaap de Goede Hoop geland het, 'n Hugenoot, spatsels Duits, Skots en Maleis, en wie weet wat nog. 

Maar soms, soms, hoor jy van iets interessants uit die verlede...soos my oupa se broer want net eendag weggeloop het, wég, en hul het nooit weer van hom gehoor nie.  

Wat het van hom geword?  Waarom het hy weggeloop?  

Ek het daardie grootjies wel in die nasionale familieregister gevind, met een genoemde seun (wat nie die wegloper was nie), en "kinders", maar nie dié wie se name ons ken nie.

Wat het daar gebeur?

----

Then there was my other great grandfather who was a prisoner of war on the island of St Helena. 

He was 17 years old when he was captured near Ladybrand during the Anglo Boer War.  Luckily he survived and fathered my paternal grandmother.

Dan was daar my ander oupagrootjie wat krygsgevangene was op St Helena-eiland.  

Hy was maar 17 toe hy gevange geneem is naby Ladybrand tydens die Anglo-Boereoorlog.  Gelukkig het hy oorleef, my pa se oupa. 

Spot the French descendant

----

My grandmother recently told me about the three Italian prisoners of war that stayed on their farm during WW2.

Whaaaat?

I knew there were lots of Italian prisoners in South Africa, but associated them with areas in what is now Gauteng, Limpopo, the Boland; not Laingsburg in the Great Karoo.

Typically these prisoners were placed at farms where they would work as general labourers or builders, and assisted in bridge and road building.  

My ouma vertel my onlangs van die drie Italiaanse krygsgevangenes wat tydens die tweede Wêreldoorlog na hul plaas uitgeplaas is.
Waaaat?

Ek het geweet van die Italiaanse gevangenes in Suid-Afrika, maar het hul meer assosieer met areas in (tans) Gauteng, Limpopo, die Boland; nie Laingsburg in die Groot Karoo nie.
Hierdie gevangenes is tipies na plase gestuur waar hul as arbeiders/bouers moes werk, of het meegewerk as brug/padbouers.

And then she showed me this ring.  

En toe wys sy my hierdie ring.

There were two; one each with her and my grandfather's initials, made of an aluminium pipe.  Inside it is engraved with date and initials of one Fernandro, who formed a close bond with them.  My grandfather's ring was lost through the years, my grandmother gave this one to me.

Daar was twee; een elk met haar en my oupa se voorletters gegraveer, gemaak van 'n aluminiumpyp.  Aan die binnekant is die datum en voorletters van ene Fernandro gegraveer, met wie hul bevriend geraak het.  My oupa se ring is verlore, hierdie een het my ouma nou aan my gegee.  

Amazing.

I would love to try and track Fernandro's history through the Prisoner of War Museum.  

Project for next year.

Ongelooflik.  

Ek sal graag Fernandro se geskiedenis probeer naspoor deur die Krygsgevangenemuseum.  

Projek vir volgende jaar.  

Today, seventy years ago, she received this.
Vandag, 70 jaar gelede, het sy hierdie ring ontvang.

----

I still wanted to write a post about the yoga bag that was eventually finished (oh yeay!), the basket that I lined - a looong time ago, crochet @ my favourite Pure Café...but then I thought, nah.  It's holiday.

Last year we were so lucky to be off to snow in Tirol, this year it's back to beach on the Garden Route, equally great.

Have a happy, blessed Christmas! 

Until 2014 :-)

Ek wou nog 'n post skryf oor die joga-sak wat uitéindelik klaar is, die mandjie wat ek gevoer het - laaaank terug al, hekel by my gunsteling Pure Café...maar toe dag ek , nee.  Dis vakansie.

Verlede jaar was ons so gelukkig om in die sneeu te gaan speel in Tirol, hierdie jaar is dit terug na die strand aan die Tuinroete, beide ewe lekker.

Dus: lekker vakansie, geseënde Kersfees!

Tot 2014 :-)

Help is needed, real help

Terwyl ek wroeg oor Eerste Wêreld-probleme soos watter hekelprojekte om saam te neem op vakansie, die sukkel met die nuwe foon, watter Boobi Brown-oogskadu om te kies, is daar mense wat swoeg met Regte Probleme.

Soos om voer vir hul diere in die hande te kry, want daar is niks meer in die veld nie.

Soos om water vir hul diere in die hande te kry, want dit het nog nie hierdie jaar gereën nie, en die boorgat is droog.

Hier is gewoonlik man-hoogte mielie/sonneblomlande.

While I'm struggling with First World problems like what crochet project to take on holiday, getting used to a new phone after my upgrade, what Bobbi Brown eyeshadow colour to choose, etc, other people are facing Real Problems.

Like getting feed for their cattle, as there is nothing in the veld.  

Like getting water for their cattle, as it hasn't rained yet this year and the borehole is dry.

These should be fields of man-height maize/sunflowers:

Dry land, Kameel
Source: Noordwes Droogtehulp @ Facebook

Boere in die Noordwes-provinsie het letterlik nie meer die fondse om voer aan te koop nie.  Hierdie foto is uit 'n helikopter geneem in die Mefeking-Bray-omgewing.  Daar is niks meer voer in die veld nie; geharde, inheemse bome gaan dood, vee soek desperaat na enigiets groen, enigiets om te drink, voor hul vrek.  Twee en tagtig karkasse is hier getel. 

Farmers in the North-West Province literally do not have the funds to buy feed for their cattle.  This photo was taken from heli between Mafeking and Bray.  There is nothing left to feed on; indigenous, hardy trees are dying, cattle search desperately for anything green, anything to drink, before they die.  Eighty two carcasses were counted here.

The face of drought
Source: Facebook friend

Hierdie is Suid-Afrika se vleisbeeswêreld, jou Texan- of Blou Bulsteak.  Dis sonneblom- en mieliewêreld.  

Hulle het niks om te oes nie.  

This is where South Africa's prime veld-reared  beef comes from, your Texan or Blue Bull steak.  This is sunflower and maize country.

They have nothing to offer.  

As jy kan help, 'n donasie wil gee, gebruik asb die besonderhede hieronder.  Hul het reeds of is in die proses om PayPal ook op te stel.  

If you can help and want to donate, please use the following details:
(Apparently they are set up for PayPal payments as well).

 DROUGHT AID DONATIONS OF CASH AND DONATIONS TO drought forage producers in the NW PROVINCE
Cash donations and donations of feed can be made to Agri NW as a representative organization of Agricultural producers in the NW Province. Agri NW is registered as a non-profit organization with registration number 930005516 ....
All gifts and donations received will go to the best judgment of Agri NW exclusively distributed and shared.
State your name and contact information when electronic payment is made and specify the payment as Drought relief.
Offers of help can feed directly by e-mail or phone Agri NW Main Office communicated to Marlize Fritz at 018 632 3612 or marlize@agrinw.co.zaAgri NW account details;
Agri NW
ABSA Lichtenburg
Branch code 632005
Account number 990142955
Cheque Account. 
Any other inquiries can be directed to Agri NW Executive General Manager Boeta du Toit 082 388 1722

Kyk ook na die FB-blad Noordwes Droogtehulp

Also have a look at their FB Page Noordwes Droogtehulp (mind it is mainly in Afrikaans).

PS - PayPal nwdroogtehulp@gmail.com

On crazy, wonderful life in Mzansi

Once in a while, a new blog comes past that is just so absolutely delightful, humorous, sharp (that's Mzansi for witty), that you just have to share it with others.

Today, it is The Disco Pants Blog.  I noticed it a week of three ago when it went viral after a link by "Africa, that's why I live here" on FB and it has unleashed a storm of reaction.  People who love it totally get it, others foam at the mouth.

Oh, my country.  It has rightfully previously been describer as bi-polar (by a bi-polar).
Our lows are terrible, our highs are way up there. Few inbetweeners. And as you read the comments on Susan's blogposts, you'll realise that people's viewpoints are as diverse.  And their circumstances.

Source: the great talent of www.rudidewet.com

There are the lucky ones, with great jobs, homes, holidays and education.
There are the unlucky ones; unemployed or very poorly paid, in tin shacks or on sidewalks, unskilled, unschooled.

Government asked "each one, hire one", but that is not always possible.  The very legislation aimed at protecting the employed, guaranteeing better salaries, also resulted in less being employed, because many can't afford paying the minimum wages

As we are preparing for an election, a program on "active citizenship" got me thinking again, reminding me of the quote "ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country".  And much of what she says on her blog, boils down to that.  

There's a lot to do, a lot to contribute, a lot to learn.

Source: send someone a card from www.spreadthelove.co.za

We are lucky, having a cleaner and gardener/general assistant.
We also have a social responsibility.  Therefor, although our eldest son is only 9, we also have a boy hopefully graduating with a BCom (Accounting) degree this year, and a girl with a diploma in Tourism.  Next year, another boy will start his studies.  An although our other son is almost 6, we have another turning 6, 7, 8, a pre-teen girl.  

Hopefully, by helping these kids through their education, we're helping to improve their future, their possibilities, their abilities.

Jeepers, I went off track here.  But that's what Disco Pants does.  Although very funny, is has an underlying seriousness, a sense of what this country is about, about what it can be, why people love it  That is why they chose to return to South Africa from Europe, and many others do the same (the post about why they returned and another about angry expats caused the foaming :-).  It's not just the beaches and Kruger Park and cheap labour and Table Mountain - it's that pull that South Africa and its people has.

We get that.  When deciding to return from Australia after less than a year, we also got the foaming; from expats there, people in SA, family.  But we knew why we wanted to return, and we had families praying us back.  

Goodness, we have our frustrations, with the cheap labour and the responsibilities and the alarm system and high fencing. But we love and embrace the vastness, the variety, the options, the fact my son's school mates can include kids from diplomats and refugees, academics, aid workers and businessmen; at school functions we can enjoy injera  and empanata and seaweed dishes, melktert and Eritrean coffee.  

Source: http://www.vayamzansi.mobi/

Ah, life in Mzansi.  Always interesting, challenging, never boring.

Lets hope the Springboks run over the Red Dragons tonight, and the  Buccaneers does the same with Al Ahly tomorrow :-) 

Of crochet fights and retail therapy

Pre-script ; Heavily edited, numerous times, and held back, but I need to vent, so here goes:
Are you fighting the same battle?

I had a bitter few days on my crochet group last week.

I found solace in retail therapy at the Tierlantynkie Market (joke, but it was a fruitful mission :-)

My crochet group on Facebook is now a little more than two years old.  From the very beginning, I was quite strict on what and how patterns might be shared.  No copies/scans from books are allowed, no e-books, but links to websites, blogs and free, legal patterns are welcome.

Yet.  

There will always be those who refuse to oblige, refuse to listen, refuse to understand, no matter how many times the rules are stated, explained, enforced.

It came to the point where I said that anyone breaking these rules will be removed from the group, no questions asked.  

Then these last couple of weeks, more and more mentions were made of a group where you could get any pattern, it would be emailed to you.  Now, as one goal of Ons Hekel is  to serve as a portal to access crochet-related information, groups, blogs and websites, I had to verify the nature of this, but  I couldn't.  I couldn't see the group - it turned out to be a secret group. I asked members to tell us more, as many other couldn't see it, but there seemed to be a deliberate vagueness about it. 

Then one lady reported that paid patterns were being distributed on this group, patterns from well-known websites and designers, patterns scanned from books and magazines.  This goes against the grain of Ons Hekel, and I didn't want a group like promoted there. So I said so. And other agreed.

And then all hell broke loose.

((But meanwhile, I happily skipped away to market with my aunt :-)




I checked in on Facebook every now and then via my mobile, as I realised there was an argument heating up, mostly back and forth bickering and disagreement -

- but then somebody's children were threatened per message.

What?

What the hell?

How could people threaten another, and bring race into the matter, just because she takes a stand against unethical pattern theft  "sharing"?

At the end of that the day, 15 members have left my group; I helped another 8 along.

I don't mind numbers, that's not the purpose, never have been.  I'd rather run a happy, great group with 50 people, than have 4900-something along wih bickering, constand demands,  pirated patterns, and I've said so often.

And just when I thought the message would actually sink in, Heidi Bears reported that her beautiful hippo pattern has been pirated, and she received a list of names and email-adresses of people who requested it.

Really, is there no respect for basic law and order left?  In a country where crime is a talking point every day, people wouldn't stop to think that what they're doing is exactly the same, even though "small" or "petty". And the excuses provided...they can't access overseas sources (!), they don't have the money to pay, they just wanted to help, they don't want to be selfish...and the list goes on.

(I've since looked around, and did find the same on groups all over...seems to be a wave around the world now, but, luckily, resistance as well).

Luckily there are a great group of people who are dead set against this, and who report and help, and I thank them from my heart, because makes it worth the while to admin a group like this.  To meet with like-minded hookers, to show off and admire, share and discuss about our work, yarns, hooks, husbands, kids and what not.  That's why we have crochet groups, the world over, not just to feed the pattern demand.

Phew.

So I have loot to show :-D

My credit card suffered some damage on Friday, but Christmas presents have been found for many, something or two for the house, and for me:

Pretty earrings (I love pretty earrings, and I'm a cheapskate, doesn't have to cost triple digits, and I'm very happy if it's R50 like these !)

Dainty doilies

...and a bag. 

Oh, what a bag!

I've bought a slingbag from her before, didn't realise it was the same designer - she actually recognised mine as she only makes one of a kind.
This bag is big, big enough for my wallet, diary, bunches of keys, wet wipes, pouch with lip balm & lip stick, sweets, a book or magazine, a hooky project with extra yarn plus the kitchen zink. 
It would actually work great as a cabin bag when flying.
Plus the leather...the leather is the softest ever.

Consolation :-)

Okay, I'm done venting now.

This weekend I'll finish my third washcloth (a tiny new obsession), working on the leprechaun-cardi, hook a square for the summer throw and another for Yarn Indaba's yarn bomb.


That'll sooth the feathers now.

Heritage Day 2014

Today we celebrated Heritage Day in South Africa, a day I wrote about last year as well.

Today we celebrated many aspects of our heritage:

We spent time with our chosen family: friends visiting from Cape Town, and local friends. Their girls were flabbergasted once when they realised our boys aren't their real cousins!

I had a French breakfast, remembering that some of my ancestors were Hugenotes who came to South Africa from France.

Before deciding on a Croque Madame

I sowed vegetables, like many of my ancestors who were farmers.

I crocheted, like my grandmothers did, and their mothers and grandmothers before them. 

I guerilla-planted some Afrikaner-seedlings (marigolds), because Afrikaners have always been a little rebellious and did things they shouldn't.

The black-eyed Susan was also guerilla-planted

I'm still going to read a new Afrikaans book, with a four word-title containing three languages (only in Mzansi).

We spent time outside in the sunshine; the boys rode their bikes, we ate early mulberries off the trees in the open erf next door.

I wore local-is-lekker clothing - loose linen pants by Ilse Menck, a Mongoose handbag of Design Team fabric.

I made one of Madiba's favourites dishes, sweet  chicken.

I made my mom's Marmite tea cake, a family favourite.

We made a huge fire, just because.

This what I celebrated of my heritage today.

Meeting Marion - when Facebook comes to life

In the years BK (Before Kids), one of my joys was my monthly book club - an informal get-together of ten friends who'd each get a month to splurge R500 on books of her choice, which we then swopped through out the year.  Then, AK, it was a bit more difficult.  Suddenly there was a baby who had to be factored in with book club, work, evening training  and work, and sadly book club had to go.  

Imagine my joy when I eventually stumbled upon my current book club, on Facebook of all places!  This group was just about the joys of reading in general, and Afrikaans specific.  We pride ourselves on being a friendly group, encouraging discussion, but being intolerant of...intolerance and nastiness :-)

What I love, is that this group grew beyond virtual boundaries, much the same as my crochet group on FB.  Members become virtual friends, become real friends, meet up in real life.  And great fun is had when the founder of our group visits South Africa:

The headgirl and headboy of Lekkerlees Boekrak having an annual coffee

Marion is our "headboy".  Due to the sorry state of our education system, and the accompanying sad salaries, he is an expat, having worked as a teacher advisor in various countries in the Far and Middle East, and travelling the world in between.  

When still at school, he said his dream was to walk on the Great Wall of China.  

His teacher laughed and said he would never get anywhere. 

He did it in 2007.  

He also started a brand (Pie-Say) and published a book (Afro-Dizzy Act) in Taiwan, climbed a glacier, swam with jellyfish and piranhas, bathed an elephant, walked the Inca Trails, scanned himself through a baggage scanner (!), jumped with the Masaai, ice-fished in Finland, made his mom's dream come true (walk on a Greek island in a floaty white dress) - and arranged a photoshoot to capture the moment, wrote the first Afrikaans chick-lit book by a male, stood where Moses stood on Mt Nebo, been a finalist with another Afrikaans novel in a Young Writer competition, ate snake in Vietnam, entered the Arctic Circle while searching for Santa in Lapland, camp in the White Desert, bought his mom a house and started a great Facebook group, where friends become family and we all share our passion of reading.

His full, ticked bucket list makes me dizzy.

So if you see a tall, crazy South African bathing in the hot springs in Iceland, eating oliebollen in Amsterdam, or practicing his Czech, it's him, going for countries 60 and up.

We love our Marries :-)

My Madiba moment

(No, I never had the opportunity to meet him).

Source: www.sabc.co.za/news

But in a week when our country watched anxiously as his condition deteriorated, quite a few pieces came by on Facebook, in newspapers, on other social media, about meetings with Mr Mandela, impressions of him etc. So obviously there was a lot of thinking back.

http://blogs.parent24.com/blog/2012/07/18/happy-birthday-madiba/

In 1991, I was a 2nd year student at the University of Pretoria.  Although the uni was "open" for all races, that was the first year that the residences were opened, and our res was one of the first.  It was a modern res, with four "apartments"on each floor, housing 5-6 students in each, and our floor was chosen to house two new girls: a senior music student, coloured, and a fellow agric student, a "Rehoboth Baster".

Now, before anyone take offence, that was how people was classified officially in my country then (and unofficially in the rest of the world).  Coloured referred to anyone mixed-race, or descending from mixed race, and the Rehoboth Baster refers to a community in the Rehoboth are of Namibia. They are still very proud and  protective of the name.  And the  irony - it took me 6 months the year before to realise she was "non-white", she was lighter-skinned than me, with bright green eyes, and it was only when she talked about Rehoboth that I first heard about them.  

Now, I grew up in the "old" South Africa, with very restrictive laws and mindsets. Indoctrination, anti-communist and anti-integration propaganda went down to school and church level. Very few people voiced different opinions, if they had any. Very few actually new who and what the ANC was, what they stood for and wanted to achieve; to white South Africa it was the forbidden organisation, communists and terrorists.  I was then in the lucky position to have grown up in a relatively politically neutral house, my dad was never a member of one of the super-Afrikaner groups.  He was also working for the then Prisons Department, with many of the well-known names under his care, so we did know a bit about these people.  I was 10 when I saw the cages in which maximum security prisoners had to sit and literally break stone into gravel at the Victor Verster prison where Mr Mandela was held for his last years, when we visited Robben Island and saw the stone quarry  etc. 

Now, that was the context of this whole long train of thought!

So, after his release in 1990, Mr Mandela was touring the world, speaking to people, was not even elected as president of the ANC (only later that year). The country was in a bit of a turmoil with a lot of hope blacks) and a lot of fear (whites). A lot of frustration, because we didn't know what was going to happen.

Then he came to visit our University, one of the oldest, an Afrikaans "stronghold". I went along, curious, wanted to hear what he had to say.  I went alone.

The atmosphere in the amphitheatre was quietly excited.  Obviously many non-white students were there, the white "liberal" groups, and I think, many curious ones like me.  Lots of security.  And then the big man walked onto the stage, among tremendous cheering.  It was really an exciting moment to be part of.  But, unfortunately he couldn't even get into his speech, as the next moment, a white right-wing student ran onto the stage, storming towards Mr Mandela, who within seconds was surrounded by security and taken off stage. That was more or less the end of the meeting.  Some shouting, some singing, closed with the singing of Nkosi sikelel 'iAfrika (oh, the irony, I learnt the words of that as a 5yr old in 1976, our nanny taught me!)

Translation here , original audio here and current anthem here (just love how it sounds in a full stadium!)

It was quiet as we all left. I walk to the res, feeling so absolutely embarrassed and ashamed of my people that day.   Each to their our opinion, but the bad behaviour of that day, was something I wanted to totally distance myself from.  Of not being able to contain yourself, to just listen to what he would he would say, or if you didn't want to hear, to just stay away.

Back at the res, I walked past our Rehoboth girl's room where she was sitting on her bed, and we chatted about the events of the day. 

I will never forget when she said, quietly crying, that "your people will never accept us".

That day, my mindset shifted and I knew that my country had to change, It had hurt too many people.

That was my Madiba moment.

PS - read an article this week about a man who worked as a campus security guard that day.  He described how Mr Mandela didn't say one negative word about the events of the day, after being run to his car. He just thanked him.

A yarny tail, and a sad tale

Ooooh...yoga bag, oh yoga bag!

So near the end!  If I can just sit DOWN en FINISH it:

Attaching the tube to the bottom...luckily crochet is sooo forgiving and you can force it to fit. 

We had a long weekend,

(16 June - Youth Day)
In 1975 protests started in African schools after a directive from the then Bantu Education Department that Afrikaans had to be used on an equal basis with English as a language of instruction in secondary schools. The issue, however, was not so much the Afrikaans as the whole system of Bantu education which was characterised by separate schools and universities, poor facilities, overcrowded classrooms and inadequately trained teachers. On 16 June 1976 more than 20 000 pupils from Soweto began a protest march. In the wake of clashes with the police, and the violence that ensued during the next few weeks, approximately 700 hundred people, many of them youths, were killed and property destroyed.Youth Day commemorates these events)

...so in between everything I sat down, but then Elle Pure Gold's inner devil came out:

Why you should roll a ball before starting

At this point I almost hoped the dogs would get to it:

Peering at the mess through the kitchen window

But on a Tuesday morning, there's nothing that a double-shot cappo with a friend can't solve!

Let's go on, then.

--0--

But then the week turned sour.

My friend Gené died.

She had kidney cancer.  

After I gave her the hat, I saw her twice, briefly, and then suddenly this happened.

She was a great teacher, a devoted mother, a brilliant, dramatic story reader. We'll really miss her.

--0--

And today is my dad's birthday.  He would have been 67 today.

We're adult orphans, my sis and I.  We lost our parents too early, as young adults, before we had kids.  It leaves you in a halfway space.   But I decided early on that I would not wallow on days like this, I'd choose to remember and celebrate.  So usually, on my mom's birthday, I'll go for tea & scones, my sis will bake a cake in Ireland, family members and friends join us in celebration and remembrance in Germiston, Potchefstroom, as far as Australia and Canada. Today, for my dad, there's a venison pie in the oven.  And sweet potato with cinnamon, and I'm thinking of souskluitjies for desert - is is cold enough!

Think I'll listen to this a bit.  Teary-eyed and all. One of his favourites.

Far away, in Rolbos then.

No post or hooky to show, just a recommendation...to visit Rolbos

Amos van der Merwe is a friend from my Facebook reading group and I started following his blog via the feeds to our group these last couple of months.  It mainly centres around the fictional community of Rolbos, where characters like Vetfaan, Gertruida, Boggel and other sit and ponder the world at Boggels shop.  It provides social commentary much like classic South African author Herman Charles Bosman's tales from the Groot Marico; at first glance it might seem humorous, but then you get the sadness, tragedy and the underlying message.  

Photo: Pretoria News

During a not-so-nice week in South Africa, his posts brought much needed balance to the throng of tweets, outbreaks of rage, accusations and public outcry.  It was good to read, and great to see how it was shared widely on FB.  

Take a look.

iRead (nothing grey) 2012

"Verlede jaar het ek vir die eerste keer begin om 'n lys te maak van die boeke wat ek lees. Wow. 95. En baie het ek vergeet om in te sluit! Maar dit was lekker om terug te kyk oor die jaar en te sien watter temas/skryfstyle my getrek het! Ek hoop om hierdie jaar meer gedissiplineerd te wees en ek hoop om my vas te loop in goeie goeie goeie goeie (soos Reinhardt bid vir goeie drome) lékker boeke te lees. "

(Ek's al klaar bietjie slimmer, en maak van die begin af kategorieë):

Dit was my...uhm..gevleuelde woorde aan die begin van die jaar...Dissipline was by die deur uit.  Aandagspan ook.  Daarom 'n mengsel van ligte, kort boeke, met hier en daar iets dikkers/diepers, en bietjie nie-fiksie.  En weereens verskeie vergeet.

My bestes in pienk:

Afrikaans Fiksie

1. Die verhaal van Johanna Brandt - Bep du Toit
2. Wildvreemd - Carina Stander
3. Geur van vergifnis - Alta Cloete
4. Geur van vervulling- Alta Cloete
5. Daar was 10 - Heinz Konsalik
6. Een aand in Amsterdam - Ela Spence
7. Eendag vir altyd - Marie-Louise Cronje
8. Ons wag op die kaptein- Elsa Joubert
9. Die Vrystaat is verniet - Helene de Kock
10. Go'el Yisra'el - Marzanne le Roux-van der Boon
11. Sabina's - Nadia de Kock
12. Grensoorlogstories - Jeanette Ferreira
13. Waar sy hoort - Marlie Cloete
14. Klein land van die liefde - Margaret Bakkes
15. Kondensmelk - Christien Neser
16. Koshuiskoffie - Christien Neser
17. Groen is die kleur van genade - Marlene le Roux
18. Fado vir 'n vreemdeling - Margaret Bakkes
19. Lentelied - Dirna Ackerman (2in1)
20. 'n Nuwe Dag - Dorothy Fourie
21. Haaitemmer - Wilreza Theron
22. Uitgeboul deur liefde - Mari Roberts
23. Satynprinses - Rykie Roux
24. Soeter as heuning - Bets Smith
25. Waar liefde le - Elsa Winckler
26. Die soen - Bets Smith
27. Niemand soos jy nie - Magdaleen Walters
28. 'n Ster vir Stella - Malene Breytenbach
29. Eendagmooi - Kristel Loots
30. 'n Klein lewe - Wilna Adriaanse
31. Die Wildedruif val - P H Nortjé
32. Mense van my asem - Steve Hofmeyr
33. Die Skrywer - Esta Steyn
34. Niggie - Ingrid Winterbach
35. Om Kobus te ken - Madelie Human
36. Boheem - Chanette Paul
37. Rots van liefde - Chanette Paul
38. Vlerke van Goud - Chanette Paul
39. Ons is nie almal so nie - Jeanne Goossen
40. Jy's die een - Madelie Human
41. Om Ben lief te hê - Madelie Human
42. Alles of niks - Madelie Human
43. Mieke rock uit - Jana du Plessis
44. Seisoen van Genade - Alta Cloete
45. 'n Huis vir Nadia - Dalene Matthee
46. Want daar's skoenlappers - Elsa Winckler
47. Die kinders van Sengeti - Elmar Steyn
48. Voltooide Sirkel - Madelie Human
49. Haar grootste geskenk - Marile Cloete
50. Blou sjokolade - Christien Neser
51. Eenoogkoning - Malene Breytenbach
52. Aand die windkant - Annemi Coetser
53. Jo & Sue - Chanette Paul
54. Nan & Jeannie - Chanette Paul
55. Lam in Wolfsklere - Bernette Bergenthuin
56. Verskietende ster - Anna Penzhorn
57. Wilde Lote - Jaybee Roux
58. Philida - Andre Brink

Engels Fiksie

1. Pillars of the earth - Ken Follett
2. Lie down with Lions - Ken Follett
3. Lone Wolf - Jodi Picoult
4. Loving - Karen Kingsbury
5. One Life. 6 Words. What's yours? - Smith Magazine
6. Dynamite doctor or Christmas Dad? - Marion Lennox
7. The Lucky One - Nicholas Sparks
8. A rural affair - Catherine Elliott
9. A Mango-shaped space - Wendy Mass
10. The Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins
11. Once in a lifetime - Cathy Kelly
12. The Patchwork Marriage - Jane Green
13. Baking Cakes in Kigali - Gaile Parkin
14. Jewels of the Sun - Nora Roberts
15. Spud-Exit, Pursued by a bear - John van de Ruit
16. Bed of Roses - Nora Roberts
17. Coming Home - Karen Kingsbury
18. The Top Prisoner in C-Max - Wessel Ebersohn
19. The best of me - Nicholas Sparks
20. Savour the moment - Nora Roberts
21. Happy ever after - Nora Roberts
22. Vision in white- Nora Roberts
23. The redemption of Sarah Cain - Beverly Lewis
24. The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver

Nie-fiksie

1. The book of regrets...thoughts, memories and revelations from a celebrated cast -Juliet Solomon
2. Eugene Terre'Blanche - my storie - Amos van der Merwe.
3. Troepie - van blougat tot bosoupa - Cameron Blake
4. Die Anglo-Boereoorlog - Fransjohan Pretorius
5. Wednesday is indigo-blue - Cytowic & Eagleman
6. Armblankes - Edward-John Bottomley
7. Taal is zecht maar echt mijn ding - Paulien Cornelisse

Hierdie het dit nie gemaak nie...

1. The Alchemist - Paulo Coelho (was eintlik nog op die ongeleesde lys van laas jaar, maar ek het dit weggegee. Ek het net nooit lus gekry om te begin nie)
2. John - Niall Williams
3. Die poorte van Sion - Bodie Thoene
4. Look at me - Jennifer Egan
5. The idea of love - Louise Dean

Hierdie wil ek (nog) lees (en baaaaie is oorgedra van 2011...)!
(Oeps.  Uhm, dit lyk amper identies soos laasjaar...)

1. Suid-Afrika 'n Toekomsperspektief
2. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
3. How to study the Bible - John MacArthur
4. Coconut - Kopano Matlwa
5. A Journal for Jordan - Dana Canedy
6. The 5 Love Languages - Gary Chapman
7. How things are made - Rose & Schlager
8. Black Diamond - Zakes Mda
9. Mahala - Chris Barnard
10. The man who loved the Zulus - J F Scutt
11. Fascinating Womanhood - Helen Andelin
12. Knowledge in the blood - Jonathan Jansen (amper klaar!)
13. Star of the morning - Pamela Jooste

89 in totaal, as ek nou so vinnig kyk. 

Mmm, en baie was dun en vinnig.  Iets waaraan ek sal werk dié jaar. 

Maar dit was steeds lekker!

Oor die bestes:

Wildvreemd (Carina Stander) - Nie geskryf in die tipiese styl waarvan ek hou nie, maar hier kon ek aanhou.  Ek ken die omgewing, en alles word so mooi beskryf dat jy dit voor jou sien gebeur.  'n Interessante, boeiende verhaal.

Ons wag op die kaptein (Elsa Joubert) - Bietjie van 'n skande dat ek nou eers daarby uitkom?  Ook nie my gewone leesstof, en ek moes maar aanpraat om deur te sit, maar die slot, o, wat kon toe daar gebeur?  So baie om oor te dink.

'n Klein lewe (Wilna Adriaanse) - Wat 'n verrassende wending deur hierdie skrywer!  Dis 'n andante - boek, heeltemal anders as haar ander fiksie.  Weereens, omdat ek die omgewing ken, kon ek dit goed visualiseer. So 'n goeie verwoording van hoe 'n vrou die veranderende Suid-Afrika beleef het.   

Seisoen van Genade (Alta Cloete) - Ek het aanvanklik gesukkel met Alta se drie "Geur"-boeke, tot ek besef het die boeke is elk in die toonaard/persoonlikheid van die hoofkarakter geskryf.  Die  "Seisoen"-reeks wat met Genade begin is vir my 'n verdieping van die vorige. Misleidend, met die mooie voorblad, kan dit maklik aangesien word vir net nog 'n liefdesverhaal, maar daar word regtig hartsdinge aangespreek in hierdie boek.  Ek wag vir die volgende een.

Philida (Andre Brink) - Philida sal waarskynlik  op elke tweede Afrikaanse leser se lysie beland.  Ek sukkel met André Brink. " 'n Droë wit seisoen" is een van my top 10-boeke, maar die res kon my nog nie werklik roer nie.  Philida is weer 'n lekker-lees, omstrede nagevors met die beurs wat baie meen iemand anders moes kry. Ek sê "lekker-lees", want die gaan vinnig, maar dis eintlik 'n hartseer verhaal, uit die slawetyd van die ou Kaap.  O jete, die (Suid)-Afrikaner het baie om voor rekenskap te gee. Hierdie boek gee 'n beeld van hoe dinge daardie tyd gewerk het, wat jy eintlik nie wil sien nie, maar moet weet.

Die Folletts - "Pillars" het ek op aanbeveling van 'n lees-vriendin gelees; sy was reg, dis 'n grootse boek.  "Lions" was weer heeltemal anders, maar vir my net so interessant.  Ek sal weer 'n Follett in die oë kyk dié jaar, "Pillars" se opvolg lê reeds in die rak.

Lone Wolf (Jodi Picoult) - Ah, ek lief Jodi, daar is seker maar twee van haar boeke wat ek nie geniet het nie.  Sy klits jou altyd om op die tweedelaaste bladsy, en hier weer. 

A Mango-shaped space (Wendy Mass) - Uiteindelik kry ek hierdie boek in die hande, 'n standaardboek vir almal met sinestesia.  Dit kan ook gesien word as 'n jeugverhaal, maar vertel so mooi hoe sinestesia werk, uit die oogpunt van die jong meisie.  Die titel 'n lieflike metafoor :-)

Baking Cakes in Kigali (Gaile Parkin) - Hoekom het ek dit nou eers gelees?? 'n Lieflike boek, dit gaan lig, maar nie lighartig nie, oor soveel seer, en gee ook 'n prentjie van die mooi wat daar wel bestaan in 'n verskriklike land. 

The Top Prisoner in C-Max (Wessel Ebersohn) - Spanning is nie eintlik my genre nie, so hierdie was weer 'n buig van die grense, maar ek is bly ek het Ebersohn ontdek.  Ek kon nie vinnig genoeg omblaai nie!

The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver) - Ek kan niks meer sê wat nog nie oor hierdie boek gesê is nie.  'n Moet-lees vir elke westerling wat in Afrika woon, wil gaan woon, wil gaan werk, wil gaan mense "red".

Eugene Terre'Blanche - my storie (Amos van der Merwe) - Hierdie is iets wat jy met moeite begin lees, want ET was so 'n omstrede figuur.  Amos hanteer sy storie egter so goed en ten spyte van enige aversie wat jy mag voel vir die man en sy idees, is daar ook simpatie, want op die ou end was hy 'n eensame, ontnugterde man, met romatiese ideale wat hy nie kon realiseer nie. 

Taal is zecht maar echt mijn ding ( Paulien Cornelisse) - Pas ontdek op vakansie; 'n humoristiese kyk na Nederlandse taalgebruik en uitdrukkings.  Ek het by tye kliphard gelag  (dit vat baie om meer as 'n glimlag by my te kry) en het summier die opvolg hiervan gekoop voor ek uit Nederland is.

O, maar ek het byna almal geniet.  Chanette Paul se twee boeke oor die Calitze, Madelie Human en Elsa Winckler se romanses, die nuwer stemme van Bernette Bergenthuin en Jana du Plessis...daar's niks te kla oor Afrikaanse boeke nie!

My stapels staan reg vir 2013 - als wat oorgedra word al reeds uit 2011, 'n hoop nuwes wat deur 2012 aangekoop is, histeriese aankope nou op vakansie en lekker geskenke en leenboeke van my sisi.