being a happy being – sillysocksonfriday

Lift up your hearts

This is an echo of my Catholic foundation, but in those days the words were in Latin: Sursum Corda

It is followed by the call to give thanks and praise.

Well in the western hemisphere whole countries pause and families gather to give thanks together. It is a fine tradition which the rest of us should follow with at least the respect and enthusiasm we give the banal Halloween, over-hyped Festive Season and chocolate coated Easter!

You may have noticed the absence of any rant or mumble in recent months – I have not been inspired or agitated enough to stir my stumps…

Perhaps there will be peace in Ukraine this Christmas. It will be an achievement of note, notwithstanding the apparent pandering to the acknowledged aggressor. That is cause for jubilation.

Israel and Gaza have slipped off the media interest scale, although still simmering. Let us give thanks and praise!

Good news is often not sensational, so it is downscaled by most media, sadly – it doesn’t sell as well as blood on the front page.

But here are some things we should be happy about:

AI is revolutionising medical diagnosis. …
Ocean cleanup projects are making waves. …
Mental health support is going mainstream. …
Renewable energy is breaking records. …
Gene therapy is curing ‘incurable’ diseases. …
Cities are becoming wildlife havens.
Food waste is being tackled with smart solutions
Global poverty continues its historic decline

Yeah! They do look good. Thank you

sorry … bit of a mumble space filler..

Stripping your moer

This is a South African term for losing your temper. A ‘moer‘, amongst other things is a nut. One frequently loses one ‘s temper if the thread is stripped on a moer that one is tightening.

Other meanings are cruder and even obscene. We won’t go there; save to say if someone strips his moer with you, he is likely to moer you. In this case the second moer is short for murder!

What brought this to mind was the damage done when one’s temper is lost. Whether physical or verbal, the blows struck can cause significant bruising which can ache even after calm is returned.

I am a firm believer that we always have a choice in such matters: the straw that breaks the camel’s back can be deflected. Instead that straw should be seen as a signal to step away and not lash out.

It is a chance to give clear indication that your restraint is being tested, you are amper gatvol. Maybe just say, let’s leave it for now or don’t go there, please.

That’s a clear signal to others that sensitivity has been trampled upon; a change of subject is needed, immediately.

That way, there is opportunity for all parties to step back, review and seek another way forward.

If a clear signal to desist is ignored, there is licence to declare your moer to be stripped!

But, even then, moderation minimises mutilation!

Losing control means you are a loser… even if the other party surrenders or recants. They will be scarred and so will you, because you will know you failed as a reasonable human being.

There have been some notable temper failures …..

Jesus displayed righteous anger (stripped his moer) when he cleared the money lenders from the temple … whew! Am I brave enough to go there?

King Henry II of England wanted to be rid of a turbulent priest, thus Thomas a Becket was murdered by four loyal knights…

Of course one can be righteous if one is right, but who is the judge of that?

So, if you strip your moer, – take a deep breath and think carefully how to rein your temper in …. then smile!

That really disconcerts others!

Oops! Maybe a bit passive aggressive?

It’s a hard life!

Well …. it was at first...!

Now ….

I live in my own house in Australia. I have a wife, have enough to live on and save and no debts. My children and grandchildren all live in Australia, most within an hour’s drive.

We celebrate occasions and braai together frequently.

I am 73 years old and despite creaks and groans, not chronically ill.

In the past year I have consulted a doctor, cardiologist, and a nuclear radiologist. I have also seen a podiatrist, dentist, and a chiropractor. In addition, I have seen a phlebotomist and a physiotherapist. I visited some of these professionals more than once. All at no cost or subsidised fees.

My doctor at my last medical check-up said: If I had these results I would be dancing every day!

As a pensioner I receive subsidies for electricity and rates from the State. Any public transport costs 50 cents a trip.

In the event of an accident, I will be fetched by an ambulance and treated in hospital at no cost. Most operations and hospital visits are free for me.

If I need a carer in the future, the State will cover most of the costs. Alternatively, they will subsidise costs of a care home.

They may even send someone to mow the lawn.

You will note the absence of a mental health professional in the list. That is because I am wise and sane. I can remember nearly everything! But that service is subsidised too, if required!

For my friends and family in darkest Africa and darkening Europe, this may sound like a boast. Please forgive me if it sounds like that; it is not!

I am profoundly grateful for my good fortune. We are truly blessed!

I am haunted by my heritage, which remains an ache but know that we did the right thing.

But there are snakes, spiders and jellyfish and slimy politicians here …. I tell you: it’s a hard life!

Stay Alive

Whatever happens, stay alive.

Don’t die before you’re dead.

Don’t lose yourself, don’t lose hope, don’t loose direction. Stay alive, with yourself, with every cell of your body, with every fiber of your skin.

Stay alive, learn, study, think, read, build, invent, create, speak, write, dream, design.

Stay alive, stay alive inside you, stay alive also outside, fill yourself with colors of the world, fill yourself with peace, fill yourself with hope.

Stay alive with joy.

There is only one thing you should not waste in life,

and that’s life itself…

~ Virginia Woolf

Kindness

It needed a crash to shake me out of my lethargy.

Being inclined to indolence I have a routine, which I follow with minor deviations depending largely on weather and people. I am not a spontaneously social being so take the wider track to avoid chatters.

Today it was wet, as was yesterday and many days before. Walking Lulu, I took a loop to avoid a lady and her two sprightly Staffies.

As I got to the slippery downslope to the road, I saw a friendly feller from up the road …. and my right foot slipped, smooth and fast!

My left knee (with the 35year old carbon fibre ligament) bent under me and I crashed onto my left foot). Oomph and eina!

I am not as slim as I used to be, so I think the earth shuddered. I lay gasping like a stranded whale. Lulu was still attached but soon lost interest. The friendly feller hustled over and inquired. A muscular jogger stopped and enquired. They lifted me up (ooh! I feel a song coming on..). A man in a big RAM truck stopped and enquired.

I felt loved and soo grateful. Every person who saw me enquired and lifted my body and spirit. They ensured I was alright before they left.

It is so good to know spontaneous kindness and care beat in everyman’s chest. I am reassured about the goodness of man.

I was careless, I know the place is slippery and always take care, except when I don’t! Gratitude is a healing warmth.

I am a better man today than I was yesterday.

bleak

…sterile, gloomy, almost bitter, valueless..

Do you ever feel like that?

It’s the other side of bored. It’s the inability to see flowers on the road ahead. No doubt they are there but going out the gate to see them is such an effort…

The wonderful thing is that it is quite easy to shake off. Just listen to a bird or feel a breeze cool the sweat, check out how blue is the sky, just walk out the door and into the park.

But … almost tempting to wallow or just stand and think about the mud oozing between your toes…. it’s not self pity or feeling of lack of worth … it’s just a lack of desire to do anything.

It’s the pits and I am pretty sure I am not the only one to have been there.

Fortunately I have a self-inflating ego which will bounce me out of there. I will receive complaints that Pavarotti is too loud, tut-tutted for my conservative views, be informed that a dozen lychees have more sugar than a glass of coke, on top of the mango I had for breakfast…

It’s a matter of choice … and the desire to choose. Mud is mud and it is probably harmless and seductively soothing to stay…

So winds the darkkserpent his slowly tightening coils around your mind until it really does get too much effort to move.

My tuppenny therapy is to get on a bike, sing, eat fruit, pat a dog, swim in the sea, paint a picture, talk with an infant ……….. write what’s in your heart, so you can send the beast in your mind slinking away.

Unalloyed joy!

Pure happiness.

It is fleeting, visceral, almost breath-taking.

I recently received good news about an almost inevitable family tragedy.

It had been haunting us for five years; frustrating us with futility, powerlessness and rage. And it wasn’t even me who was the target of impending doom.

Worse, it was one of my children and his family.

Faced by an impenetrable wall of bureaucracy, they were forced to spend over ten thousand dollars on legal advice. The threat of an unknown outcome hung over them for over 5 years.

If their appeal failed, they would have to leave their home, dogs, and cats. They would also leave their parents, siblings, friends, and careers over the last 10 years …

I ranted and blogged. I wrote to Ministers and Members of Parliament. I studied the law. I practised my address to the Appeal Tribunal weekly.

He came around last night and said “we haven’t had a beer for a while”. (It was about 10 days after all).

Then he said have a look at your email. I sensed that this was it and felt cold. It was from the Administrative Review Tribunal.

Like an automaton, I opened and read…

The Tribunal sets aside the decision under review…

Ohh Yessss!

He was so cool and calm. I was amazed. Then I realised he was still stunned. That is another emotion to add to the list.

I looked at my Blessed Michael the Archangel candle, given to me by my daughter, who had now been blessed.

My Daddy gave him to me as my guardian angel to protect me against nightmares and chase away the demons under my bed with his fiery sword…

I may still have some doubts about his Patron, but Michael gave me courage which I sent to all my children.

So I give thanks and praise.

What ever happened to Fay Wray?

Unbelievably, King Kong fell in love with her! I pictured those great white teeth chomping down that satin draped frame. But no she had him in the palm of her hand while sitting in the palm of his hand…. this is getting silly!

For those of you, (if any), who were wondering whatever happened to me, I went fishing on Fraser Island (Kgari, my arse*). I’ll have you know that despite all odds: the weather wiped out 2 days fishing, I caught three times as many fish as I had the year before… (in fact, three). I also caught the biggest (and only) bream.

Our gang caught close to 30 fish on the one good fishing day. Glorious weather, golden beaches, azure sea, sublime conditions and compliant fish. Almost excellent… in every Paradise (that’s what Kgari means), there lurks danger.

At the end of the day, when we were cleaning our fish, scaling, gutting and filleting them, we were beset by a pack of wild dingoes! It was now dark and we were operating by torch light, so they were coming in close, undeterred by my secret Afrikaans curse: Voertsek! Only when I girded my loins and lunged at them did they retreat, all of two metres…

I volunteered to keep them at bay while we completed our task and made ready to retreat. The dingoes prowled around or lay on the sand, only about 20 metres away, ominously silent, their eyes gleaming green in the night ….

We escaped unscathed to live another day and celebrate our successes, leaving the dingoes to dig up our fish carcasses, diligently buried between high and low water lines.

Actually there were only two dingoes, who were quite polite, although while we were fishing, one did jump into the back of our Prado, three times. Fortunately it did not find our vital supplies of beer and droe wors.

*I have no objection to the changing of names of places. What I do object to is the anonymous, secretive, unannounced changes, done by righteous, do gooders who believe they are right and thus can do what they like … but still do it secretly!

Hej!

As some of you may recall, I ride a bike in the early morning … sometimes I fall off, but not for a while, touch wood.

I make a point of smiling at and greeting everyone I pass by. Surprisingly quite a few are miserable buggers who just scowl. I also make a point of greeting their dogs, which usually makes them smile … the owners too.

Just to introduce some early morning variation, I greet them in different languages. That seems to work quite well – I mostly get a heads-up and smile these days.

So ….

Hola Konnichiwa

Jambo Hallo Ciao

Namaste

Bonjour Marhaba Dumela Shalom

Bula Sabaidee Ni-hao

Zdravo Olá Sawubona

Salam Xin-chao Yassas Zdravstvuyte Moni Bok Ahoj Bula

Tere Aloha Sveiki Mhoro Kia-Ora Namaste Salut Talofa

Sawubona

Intermittent feasting

It is a sad thing that we always try to fool ourselves. Long ago, I accepted that I was hopelessly self-indulgent and because I loved eating and drinking, there would be some corporeal consequences.

Daily exercise was my penance and thus I felt that I prevented indulgences from becoming overwhelming. I knew my form as overweight; what a tailor called rather inelegantly, portly short. (My ego inserted ‘slightly’ to mollify my dignity).

I had long ago accepted that I was not as trim as I was when I played rugby (not quite 50 years ago), but that the next step, overweight, was acceptable. I mean Shakespeare’s Falstaff was a knight at arms, even though somewhat portly!

However, I was recently labelled as obese!!

I was also told the risks that my obesity fostered: diabetes, higher blood pressure, dementia, high cholesterol; but to be honest, I think it was my vanity that was most bruised. I can not allow myself to be obese!

It was my chiropractor who labelled me – a good man (he talks rugby between slaps and stretches).

I had gone to him for various aches and pains and the obvious conclusion we drew, was that they too may well diminish if my poor skeleton was not dragging around almost 20kg of unnecessary weight.

He suggested that losing weight was a mental challenge. Diets were about changing what was eaten; changing when I ate, may outfox my procrastinations and lapses when confronted by Black Forest Cake or Sherry Trifle.

So now I may eat them between 10h00 and 18h00, admittedly with some moderation …. but I am a reasonable man.

In this way, I protect my vanity by reducing my obesity and virtuously discipline my habits and lose wight which will make me healthy.

It’s what I call a win, win, win solution!

(I might live forever! That might be taking things a step too far. Nobody would tolerate me at 90!!)

I promise to keep you informed on progress … or otherwise! Scout’s Honour.

Starting weight, fully dressed was (?) 105kg.