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!

A brush with death…

Quite recently I was told that there was a snake in my vicinity which could strike at any time! If it did I should call an ambulance immediately. Also, it would be better if I didn’t move around in case it struck!

I suggested not finishing mowing the lawn. However, that was ruled out at home. “If you are going to die, you are going to die – it’s the same for all of us.”

Well, that was the best advice. No panic, no worrying … almost a secret pleasure. The prospect of imminent death was not at all daunting. Maybe a bit of regret that I wouldn’t be at my wake. I did suggest it as a possibility. Maybe I could be borrowed from the undertakers and propped up in the corner with a beer in my hands…?

That’s not exactly what really happened…

My doctor had cut off a mole and sent it off for checking. She also sent me to a cardiologist to check my ticker. He sent me for some tests.

As arranged, my doctor phoned to report if the mole was dubious or not. It was not.

But, she had the results of my CT test…

I was to take 300 aspirin immediately and one every day forever.
I was not to do anything strenuous and if I had any discomfort, no matter what, I was to call an ambulance!
She was booking me into hospital for angioplasty.

That’s when I asked about the lawn and the washing up.

The snake was a clogged coronary artery, which seemed to be a serious situation.

However, I saw my cardiologist a few days later and he said:

Nah, relax –it’s not a problem, we will treat it medically. It has been there a long time. If it hasn’t killed you by now, it is not likely to do so.

He is a very good doctor – he just prescribed a few pills and didn’t even put me on a diet!

So my plans for a wake are on ice.

Quite an impressive tale to tell and some of my children seemed concerned, which was heart warming.

On a slightly less jocular note, I was surprised. I was not remotely concerned by my doctor’s alarm and urgent arrangements for heart surgery.

On second thoughts, is it depressing that the thought of my death doesn’t alarm me? … I wonder if there is Beck’s in heaven? If the beer is warm, I have probably gone to hell…

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!

How do I feel?

What I believe is greatly influenced about what I feel. Thoughts and words express our perceptions which are greatly influenced by our emotions.

I suffer from bouts of insomnia for as long as 10 minutes and occasionally wake up too soon to get up in winter.

These are some of the thoughts that exuded from my foggy brain this morning:

How do we address the erosion of western values by the woke generation, some of whom are our own kith and kin?
How did I learn to feel and think the way I do?
What was the world like when I learned to think and articulate what I believe in?
What do I believe in?

It gets quite difficult and foggy, very quickly

Coincidentally, someone posted this on Facebook recently:

I am God … I think therefore I am.. I am a biological thinking intelligent machine… I can create my own reality.

I believe we are mostly good, but that experiences mould us:

There are some bad and weak people who choose to follow their own ways, despite knowing better ways.
We are easily distracted and tempted; self-discipline is difficult, but rewarding.
We are also easily misled and pride rules our redemption.
We forget that emotion guides every choice and harnesses intellect, so that it becomes imperfect..

I started life in Africa, as everything did apparently. That history was a great place to learn values and witness injustices.

Discrimination based on race, gender, ability and history is wrong.
We have a duty to stand by our family and friends.
We pay the State to serve us and we must also serve the State in times of need. But we cannot blindly follow the State.

Hmm! That should be enough for you to chew on.

I do not doubt that there will be little response to these humdrum words – that usually only comes after blogs about birds and flowers and such like.

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

Resentment

This word has been echoing in my mind of late. I am concerned as I cannot figure why it is there.

Do I have some deep seated resentment? Who is the subject cause? It’s always a person, of course. If it’s not a person, then it’s God and He/She is not a good choice for blame.

Resentment is a secret feeling, cousin to envy and jealousy. I feel bad because I have been mistreated (not my fault, of course) or I haven’t got what I want, what others have.

I suppose it is akin to pride, the worst sin. It is based on comparism – one can only judge one’s own worth in the light of others. It is a failure to examine one’s own position and accept that we are the authors of our own fortune.

It takes honesty and courage, which are not easy, as they are quite easy to evade. Rationalisation as to why I failed becomes a habit and that’s where resentment sneaks in the door. Shifting the blame … it wasn’t me…

Meditation and introspection can help. But the mind is so agile it will pick up speed and leap over any awkward lumps in the way, unless you brake and reverse and re-examine them, this time wearing your glasses.

If you don’t deal with resentment, it festers and can blow up in an uncontrolled confrontation, or implode in a dark depression …. neither good for you or your loved ones.

So deal with it, now!