the good life – 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!

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.

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

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.

Am I laughing or crying?

Of course it can be both … and more: you can wet yourself laughing … or even die!

Laughter can be messy, but generally it does one good. Some times, heh! heh! (accompanied by hands rubbing together), it can mean an evil plan has come together.

Often laughter follows witnessing the misfortune of others, which is not really nice, but usually occurs involuntarily and thus often hinders the immediate tendering of assistance. Not that assistance from a tear stained, snorting friend would be welcome or in fact practical!

Laughter has been described as “a physical urge tied to a psychological need for release … each human being is caught in a tug-of-war: part of us strains to live free as individuals, guided by bodily appetites and aggressive urges, while the other side yearns for conformity and acceptance. This results in every normal person being continually steeped in psychic tension, mostly due to guilt and lack of fulfillment.” *

Certainly laughter is a release and is almost always infectious, releasing smiles and grins in most passers-by. Laughter therapy is a real thing. Have you ever seen a sad hyena?

Recently I was sent a link to a grand website/ app (L’oeuil musical), which had clips of many songs dating back to the middle of last century. Hearing some of them brought tears of … joy? to my eyes. (I am, however, prone to blubbing).

My question is: why do I not laugh instead of cry? Although crying is of course not synonymous with sadness: happiness, pride, pain, smells, a punch on the nose can all elicit tears.

Did you know there are such people as professional mourners who are paid to attend funerals and look sad? I wonder if they get paid more if they can cry there as well?

We all know about clowns and comedians who are professionals who make a living out of your laughter.

One of the most famous comedians, Jerry Seinfeld has recently fallen foul of the woke mob, essentially because he’s a Jew, who stands by Israel – let us hope that they are not bent on killing humour. Maybe there’ll soon be song like American Pie, about the day the laughter died?

I think laughing and crying are both good and if you stifle your laughter or deny your tears, you will crumble.

Next time you walk down the street, laugh out loud and smile; you will leave a trail of happiness.

Next time you feel sad, cry, baby, cry.

Let it all hang out, there is no shame in crying – only in not crying.

*The Legacy of the Wisecrack: Stand-up Comedy as the Great Literary Form by Eddie Tafoya

It is just … sad!

Australia has the largest size homes in the world. Round here in our middle class estate, 20 year old houses average A$1,000,000

Average homesize has more than doubled despite family size declining by 28% in the past 60 years. Plus we send the old fogies off to live in aged care homes, so they are no bother.

Not only that, storage facilities are booming and are a serious investment option!

What does that say?

It says to me that we are rabbits in the headlights of marketers. Our lives are continuously cascaded with marketing messages and information.

We are driven to buy the bargain, its so cheap. We each have 50 shirts, 10 pairs of shoes, 50 dresses and a million knick knacks. Our televisions grow in size by the year. We have speakers in every room and 12 different appliances in the kitchen. We have so many types of insurance we need a broker

Our houses are so cluttered we buy sheds and park the cars in the road. We hire storage space to accommodate our possessions.

Why? We don’t need most of the stuff we have…

I am reminded of the riots in London in 2011 which was sparked by police shooting an armed suspect. It led to wide spread looting. My thoughts at the time (just after the 2008 recession) were that despair and futility and lack of money coupled with incessant marketing messages could lead me to do some looting too.

That’s when I began to dislike marketing.

It’s sad because we won’t be able to stop it without a cataclysmic event or events which could lead to radical recalibration of our values and drives.

Covid was clearly not sufficient.

A world war would do it – and that is not too remote an event….