ego blography – sillysocksonfriday

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!

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.

Glimpses of my life

These are the 40 glimpses of moments, experiences which resonate whenever I think of them.

My Lenten undertaking was to make something everyday, so I re-created and shared these memories.

Easter is my time for reflection and thanksgiving; it is a time of reverence and rejoicing for many.

Let us all pray for peace.

Day 1: Pavarotti’s astounding faith in love:…vincero, vincerooo!

Day 2: Torchlight showing rainwater running into a fresh lion print

Day 3: Electric green flashes as lorikeets shriek by

Day 4: Flowers bending under bees knees

Day 5: Michelangelo’s statue of David in Florence – artistic perfection!

Day 6: Tickalocks! All locked up!

Day 7: A wild elephant’s eye from 6 feet away ..!

Day 8: Peroop! peroop…! – bee eaters calling high in the sky

Day 9: A leaping tiger fish spitting my spoon back at me on Lake Kariba

Day 10: The view from Table Mountain

Day 11: The aerial ropeway at Havelock Mine

Day 12: La Pietà di Michelangelo in St Peter’s Basilica

Day 13: The scent of Mum’s roses

Day 14: Benny Wessels rubbing his bum in the frost after being caned!

Day 15: A Mocambique Cobra standing hood-spread 6 inches from my feet…

Day 16: Drifting down the Zambezi River watching crocs and avoiding hippos

Day 17: The lone piper sounding a lament at the edge of the Mtsoli valley, Havelock Mine

Day 18: Ozymandias

Day 19: Family and friends under the flowering jacaranda at our wedding.

Day 20: The blare of the trombone and poom-poom of the tuba blown by Swazi warriors on the march

Day 21: Grilled piri piri prawns a la Portugues

Day 22: Notre Dame cathedral

Day 23: A headless puffadder trying to strike the hand holding its tail.

Day 24: A whiter shade of pale

Day 25: Daddy laughing at something he read – tears streaming from his eyes.

Day 26: Pie jesu

Day 27: A cold glass of beer on a hot afternoon

Day 28: The Duomo in Florence. Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore

Day 29: The Concorde

Day 30: Candy floss

Day 31: Roadside Cosmos

Day 32: The scent of bread from bakery ovens

Day 33: “Do not go gentle into that good night” by Dylan Thomas

Day 34: Gustav Klimt’s painting: Judith and the head of Holofernes

Day 35: Blue swallows flitting past on a high mountain vlei

Day 36: The glint in the eye of an impish bull terrier

Day 37: Samba pa ti – Carlos Santana

Day 38: The amabutfo singing Siya ncaba ka nkofula on Swaziland Independence day, echoing from the Mdzimba Mountains

Day 39: Ox Tail stew

Day 40: Last Post sounding from the Police camp in the evening – Mbabane in the 1950’s

There maybe some confusion

My latest post may have been a bit weird for those followers of this website who are not part of my sillysocks Facebook page (which is a Facebook group I started).

To explain:

I have always tried to observe Lent by not doing something and by doing something for the 40 days.

So, I undertook to give up lunch and to record a momentous glimpse into my life.

I shall post the full list after Lent has ended.

Hope that makes it a bit clearer.

A Glimpse Omnibus

I regret that my Lenten discipline has been very poor. Mea culpa! I have been idle and evasive, rationalizing my failure .. to no avail.

I thought maybe I should do a job lot to catch up.

Each glimpse is attached to a stirring memory. I have tried to broaden my scope – bit worried about the number of snakes that feature!

By the way, I remember what Glimpse 5 was: Michelangelo’s David – perfect art!

This post covers days 22 to 38 to catch up (Day 40 is Holy Thursday.)

22 Petrichor in Africa

23 A headless puffadder trying to strike the hand holding its tail.

24 A whiter shade of pale -Procul Harum

25 Daddy laughing at something he read – tears streaming from his eyes.

26 Pie jesu

27 A cold glass of beer, condensation beading the glass

28 The Duomo in Florence. Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore

29 The Concorde

30 The Hallelujah Chorus

31 Roadside Cosmos in Autumn

32 The scent of baking bread from bakery ovens

33 “Do not go gentle into that good night” by Dylan Thomas

34 Gustav Klimt: Judith and the head of Holofernes

35 Blue swallows flitting past on a high mountain vlei

36 The glint in the eye of an impish bull terrier

37 Samba pa ti – Carlos Santana

38 The amabutfo singing Siya ncaba ka nkofula on Swaziland Independence day, echoing from the Mdzimba Mountains

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.

A Vicissitude

The word itself has an unpleasantness about it – it is about the not so bright side of life.

I must warn you that this blog discloses some conservative aspects of my personality. If you would prefer to maintain your image of me as untarnished, turn a page; if you are curious and brave, read on …

Since I left school, I have had to pay for my own haircuts – so I didn’t. I let my hair grow. Now if I still had the silky blonde curls of my toddler years, longer hair would likely have been a chick magnet.

Alas, my hair turned frizzy and wiry – Mahlutsi in siSwati; my sister’s name, so called for her thick wiry hair. No worries, Afros were almost fashionable even in the old SA! On liberal white campuses anyway.

After 4 years of untamed, occasional self trimming, I had to get a job, so went to a barber for a short back and sides. All my mates were in the Police or Army doing national service, so I was in fashion.

I honestly don’t recall haircuts in the 10 years I was in Rhodesia, but kept it quite short. I think I may have prevailed on friends’ girlfriends. (I was not a chick magnet).

After I moved to South Africa and got married I noticed that barbers seemed to disappear, to be replaced by hairdressers. Also, I started balding…

I was put off by going to a hairdresser, so bought my own clippers and did my own hair. Occasionally my wife would correct any major oversight.

About 10 years ago, I had a beard and a monk’s fringe which was getting a bit waywardly curly. Deciding to treat myself I sought out a barber. They seemed to be coming back into business again.

To my surprise, the barber was a hairdresser. Lisping slightly, he asked if I had an apointhment. I had never made an appointment at a barber shop in my life. You just sat on a bench and read fishing and car magazines until a chair was free!

He said he could fit me in in the late afternoon… I hardly heard him. I’d seen the price: Pensioner special $25!! I had never paid more than one dollar before!!

I shot out off there and have never looked back. It is clear hairdressers have taken over the striped pole and old dentist chairs from barbers…

So, I cut my own hair, I must say no-one has ever commented except my wife who likes me in curls. No major disasters … until today.

On the spur of the moment, probably to avoid writing a blog (yes, it is Friday) , I decided on a quick trim, as it is getting quite hot these days.

Act in haste, repent at leisure… All went well, but as I was clipping the middle of the back of my head, I felt a cool stripe. Then I felt something fall off the clipper. It was the attachment which sets the length of hair.

As my grandson says: Uh ohh!!

I couldn’t see in the little hand mirror, so reluctantly went to find my wife. She snorted and tears came to her eyes…

She turned me with my back to the big mirror and I looked in the hand mirror. There is a vertical bald track up the back of my head..

Ah well, my hair has not been my best feature, since I outgrew my toddler curls…

At least it gave me something to blog about!

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!

A call to take up inoffensive weapons in a global campaign … (woke speech)

The time has come, as the Walrus said, to think of other things.
The organisation / association / school of which I am proud & happy to have been a part for over a decade, has decided to broaden its campaign.

It has been accepted that the global campaign against neckties has had some impact. Sympathisers have increased awareness that tying decorated strips of cloth around one’s neck is folly and a clear symbol of submission to the yoke of ridiculous convention.

I attended a seminar in the city recently. It was depressing: I had to seek guidance on how to access the lift – there were 6, with no buttons. One had to mechanically alert a console in the foyer as to one’s destination & it advised which lift would convey you. The damn thing had only a clock & an alarm bell & took me straight to floor 20 without stopping.

Even worse were the attendees: 90/100 uniformly attired in black; decorative nooses tightly wound around male necks & jackets buttoned …. slightly amused at my grey flannel slacks and cardigan, politely ignoring my lack of necktie.

All I could think of was urban clones. The lawyers who adressed us, could have been brother and sisters, raised by a Sergeant Major! I am so glad I don’t work in the city!! The campaign has a loong way to go.

The Israelis, those clever industrious aggressive people, who are the best national example of a general rejection of that corporate noose, are not doing well with PR at the moment though!

So, a different campaign, a strategic feint, is considered appropriate to garner fresh attention,

Being easy going, we understand the courage and daring involved in resistance. The Man is mean, unreasonable and unrelenting – a challenge of this nature is likely to invite institutional condemnation from up high.
The Man, who has tolerated this absurdity for many years, will have to admit his own folly to recant.

That is hard and would attract labels such as radical, liberal and, horror of horrors, may risk refusal of entry to the Club! So any challenge will be stifled.

Of course, women do not have to comply – that is discriminatory; but don’t tell a lawyer that, there will be an answer. Perhaps men should wear skirts to work – they could call them kilts …hmmm!

Take courage, talk about it, debate it, defend it, attack it!

We still believe wearing silly socks can bring about a gradual erosion of urban uniform mentality.

Start on Fridays & spread the word; encourage participation, praise creativity. It cannot be faulted (it is underwear , after all)

To socks, to socks!

This is a re-post of a very early (slightly edited) blog published on 28 July 2006

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.