Before we continue with this week’s blog let me start by answering the silent question that a lot of my lovelies have been wondering. I began last week’s blog mentioning my sister-in-law and our cold war. I have since been told this intrigued a few and left you pondering as to whether we had in fact kissed and made up. Apologies for this “oversight” albeit for me it wasn’t an oversight. I mentioned her in the beginning purely to explain that the wedding was woven in drama before it even had a “save the date” attached to it. We did indeed acknowledge one another and were both very civil. My word! We even hugged. However, as for reuniting and being new best friends. I am afraid not. Too much water under the proverbial bridge. The silent cold front continues. I like to think I am not a woman of anger (Gosh how dramatic is that sentence, shucks Dizabeth definitely watching way too much Netflix!)
Whilst we on Netflix: First Fun fact of this week’s blog:
Looking for something on Netflix? I really, really, really did’nt think I would, but I lurved Alias Grace – go check it out. Its old times though hey, the long skirts and cart horses. Well worth it – well I thought so!
Right back to the family drama, as I was saying, this isn’t a situation I am doing flick flacks over, but at the same time, it is what it is – and we cannot please all the people all the time. Family. Definitely the best of times – the worst of times!
We drove back from the wedding (more so, drove back after amazing family time) three weeks ago. My mom in law traversed with us. Now the trip between Durban/Nelspruit I swear let’s not get dramatic Dizabeth but it can be rather grueling and that’s in a car. Imagine what it was like back in the 1800’s in a blady ox wagon. Hmmm was it the 1800’s that ox wagons were the fashion? Not too clued up on this actually! (Come near dear readers, this is a Google moment – when were ox wagons around?) Now Gary would say if I was driving it would have been a real-life reminiscing of those ox wagon days or a moderner version, a true Driving Miss Daisy experience. (You will recall when we were driving to Stellenbosch taking Chad to Uni, we were 5kms from home when my phone rang. It was my beloved husband reminding me we had trillions of kms ahead of us and this wasn’t just a simple trip to the local mall. “Put your foot on the blady gas woman!”) Hmmm so perhaps he does have a point. BUT remember the television advertisement from centuries ago, Christopher White who drove around the Benz? The one filmed on Chapmans Peak? Well, some of our mountain passes are an exact replica of that!
So Dizabeth does tend to lean towards the very, extremely cautious speed. Oh, my giddy aunt it is hair raising enough in our car. I say “our” car as this is also a story for another day, we are a little Suzuki Swift couple currently. Digressed again I see! So, ok, ok since Gary is the designated driver it is way, way, waaaaaaaay more hair raising than you can begin to imagine dear reader! Yikes even his mama bear was chirping from the back seat. Yip, you said it a real “back seat driver”. And me? Ok truth be told I frikken relished every minute, in fact every second of her back seat chirping. I need to elaborate. Gary thinks he is a Top … damn what’s that program called? Ahhh remembered! (Ok that is a fib! I had to Google as this memory of Dizabeth’s! Hmmmm scary stuff as another wrinkle forms, she loses another chip off the old memory bank) as I was saying the program is Top Gear with Gary in the leading role, mind you I must add, fulfilling the roll with a true combination of Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond and James May. No, I am dead serious my lovelies. Oh yes, with a sprinkling of Jack Nicholson in The Shining. (Actually no I am wrong not a sprinkling but rather a huge dollop.) With that axe. “Here’s Johnny!” Shucks I do pity fellow drivers – they have no idea; I am sure they get a sudden bolt of anger spewing towards them from literally nowhere. They, no doubt feel a distinct temperature change, hot molten lava as Gary flooks them changing lanes and not putting their flickers on, indicating they were moving across. I always say to him “oh my word what a waste of precious energy – you are going ballistic at the poor driver, and he has no idea.” He/she just would suddenly feel this angry negative energy consuming their inner thoughts!
This is one of the many gruelling roads in Ma-pumies ☹
Ok shucks digressed hugely there. So, what was I on about? Ok, so we returned from the wedding and jumped straight back into the everyday hub bub of our lives. We took my mom in law into Kruger on the first weekend. That was amazing – she most definitely had her “sighting” eyes on and thanks to her we spotted our 4th – yip that’s correct – our 4th Pangolin. There was an Afrikaans couple (elderly couple) already at the sighting. We casually looked their way waiting for them to confirm whatever it was that they were checking out, when from the back seat – yip that back seat sure is getting plenty of mentions so far in this blog. We heard my mom in law shriek out “Armadillo!” …. Well for a minute or two I felt as if we had catapulted into an American wildlife scene. The harsh outback, the hot dry heat…. no, no that’s the Australian’s out back – so…… still the dry, beige, sun-soaked landscape, dead plants everywhere – set the scene enough for you my lovelies? You get the picture, a bleak and vast American desert (Who remembers the desert scenes in Breaking Bad? sandy, dry, bleak and definitely no lion or leopard popping up saying “Here I am! Here’s Johnny!” and so when the welcome voice from the backseat called out ‘Armadillo” we were “Hell woman it could be a blady Tyrannosaurus” it’s something! We had had, for those that have visited Kruger, or in fact any game reserve. You always seem to have (well we do!) those “dry spells” – all enthusiasm in the car is sucked dry, everyone goes beyond quiet. That excitement when you entered the gate, all shouting above your fellow passengers on what you are hoping to see. Now speaking for myself here, this is when I have left the building and am in my very own thoughts. “I wonder what I should cook for dinner this week?” “I wonder if I should in fact really cut my hair or just ask every stranger in the street what they think and do nothing about cutting it.” “I wonder how Pam’s weekend is going or more importantly did she walk on her own?”
“ARRRRRRRRRMMMAAADILLO” in an American – actually a Sol Kerzner accent! I grabbed my cellphone to capture the moment and suddenly (peaceful music – in slow motion – scene set) I decided I would far rather enjoy the moment – and so I did. Thank goodness as the little blighter fussed around, shoving brush and dead bush this way and that for half a second before he rolled himself into a ball. Now the interesting thing thus far – when mom in law (aka Patty Pancake) shrieked out “Armadillo” neither Mr. Croc Dundee (Gary) nor me corrected her and said “Erm no… Pangolin” … we both knew exactly what she was meaning.
So, to avoid further confusion to the non-wild lifer’s – An armadillo is American – a pangolin is an African. Hm now here’s a question: Is he throughout Africa or just Saffer? Wait going to Google. Watch this space. You see following Dizabeth you sure to learn nogal!
Right there we go Fun fact moment indeed:
Pangolins can be found in South Africa in northern KwaZulu-Natal, Mpumalanga, Limpopo and parts of Northwest. It can also be found in Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Botswana and Namibia
Moment of truth here please peeps. Who knew the above? Can’t say I did!
Ok, whilst we doing some research, is an armadillo American? Watch this space my lovelies!
Hm, there you go check this fun fact:-
The armadillo is native to both North America and South America, although only one species of Armadillo is found in the United States
Here for those that are loving the fun facts is a pic of how he looks :-
These photo’s – stating the obvious here – are a Pangolin 😊
As I mentioned she really was brilliant with her “spotting eyes” right on track. Was a lovely day. Sadly, no bears, or coyotes but besides…. oh wait a minute this was Kruger! And there certainly were no wild dogs! And in conclusion the little Afrikaans couple that we thought had spotted the pangolin – they were staring at who knows what! They didn’t seem to understand us and when we showed them the now rolled up pangolin, I think they thought we were taking the mickey out of them. They for the life of us couldn’t spot the rolled up, extremely well camouflaged pangolin in between the brush and bushes.
Now onward and upward we go, right away from the scaly creatures – onto long locks. For those that are not in the know Dizabeth finally realized that the Rapunzel long locks she was sporting were perhaps not as she imagined them to be! I do – I really, really love long hair. When I was a little girl, my mom used to cut my hair like a blady boy! Not that there is anything wrong with either a boy’s short hair, a girl’s short hair or either or – for all those peeps out there I am keeping this politically correct and for the records – short hair on a boy or girl is fabulous. Just not on Dizabeth!!! So actually, lets blame COVID I left my hair and left it and left it and it was long. Well ok not loooong, but longish. And I thought it looked damn fine. (Ok before I go on, as I am even getting confused now. Before COVID I had short but not short hair. You all with me? so Bobbish style). So as I was saying I thought my longish hair – thanks to COVID looked damn fine. However, not everyone was of that opinion. I started to kinda’ pick up the vibe that my hair wasn’t the golden shining long locks that I saw in the mirror. This started consuming my every thought – yip a few of you were confronted with an on-the-spot question “So what do you think – long or short?” I need to say you were all extremely diplomatic – so last week I woke up – saw myself as you saw me and decided “WTF????Who is this Witch Hazel before my eyes?” and decided then and there. Right now, I want it cut. But now recently I lost my beloved hairdresser. So, I was in a bit of a “tangle” (love the play on words here, don’t you?) I contacted my nail lady, my pedi lady (yip they are two different ladies) and clearly, they both don’t know Dizabeth as they should. They didn’t answer when I rang. No problem to me – I what’s app’d them both. Then pinged, pinged and pinged again. To no avail. In fact up till today I still have not heard from either of them – hmmm wonder why that would be?? So as I was saying, by now I was besides myself and if any of the thousands of pairs of scissors I own – if only one had been sharp enough I would have played hairdresser, hairdresser. Thank goodness not a sharp pair was within my reach and my two ladies were lost in some blady black hole. So, I started pondering the malls in my hood. Ah ha!!! I remembered one, so in my car I jumped and took a “casual” (not!) drive down to the centre. I casually walked past the hairdresser pretending I was indeed off to Checkers – walked into and out of Checkers and casually walked into the salon and asked would they have an appointment. I must add it was at this stage, I had one last attempt at the receptionist agreeing that in fact my long hair really was beautiful, and I was silly to cut it. I even paused after saying I was here to cut my hair. Giving her plenty time to jump right in – and she didn’t! Well, a half hour later there I sat listening to the hairdresser as she droned on and on about her hubby that had left her for a younger woman, what the fortune teller predicted and how the much older man she was currently seeing doted on her. I swear I thought I was gonna plutz, once we had assessed what style I would settle on and she had tried desperately, in fact very desperately to convince me I needed a streak or two. I said “nope” so then we went from streaks to my hair being very, very, very dry and needing an in depth rich conditioning mask for R250.
question here then – if my hair was sooooo in need of this treatment why the heck would we damage it more by doing said streaks? See where I am going with this my lovelies? Anyhow so off we go to the basin, and I am so, so, so looking forward to my wash and the massage that goes along with this. But doesn’t the hairdresser stand and talk and talk and talk – so was I enjoying my massage? Erm NO! I will give the hairdresser credit here though. She was incredibly professional and spent close on an hour cutting my hair. This fascinates me too. Remember when you were little and decided your fringe needed a trim or your Barbie needed a bob, and you just took that pair of scissors and hacked off in a “straight” line. She combed, flicked this way, cut a bit – combed flicked again, squared up the right with the left side and cut again. Anyhow, before I knew it, I was walking out with a brand-new look. (Me grey ….no way …. another ad – remember it lovelies?) Now for that first week I was super, super chuffed. The hair fell perfectly into style even when I woke in the middle of the night for the loo. It was perfectly perfect. Until it wasn’t!! Each day it got a little dirtier I put off that first wash for as long as possible. Eventually it was time to stand under the shower and wash it. This was followed by my blow drying it. Well, let’s just say I would fail if I ever decided on becoming a hairdresser. That woman that walked out of the salon and wore that hairstyle for the remainder of the week most certainly was not the same woman who washed, and blow dried her own hair. Anyhow after spending a fair amount of time blow drying – the next morning I went for my usual walk with my dearest friend, it was a cool drizzly day which of course I was loving especially when walking. That was until I returned home and happened to walk past the mirror in the lounge. WTF!!! There in my blady lounge was one of those little rondavels that you see in Skukuza in Kruger. You know the ones I am meaning, short, stout round buildings with frikken thatched roofs that you cannot miss! I spent the remainder of the day trying to not only convince myself but Gary and mom in law that this “casually curly wild dragged through the bush backwards” look was in fact quite attractive. I knew secretly it was HIDEOUS. So, Sunday night we were back in the shower followed by another blow-drying session! One question: Why the heck when I blow dry my hair does it look nothing, not even close to the look the hairdresser gets?
The photo of me in my lounge with my frizzy thatched roof hairstyle!
And on that note my lovelies I will leave you to ponder. How come the hairdresser can perfect my hair, frikken hell it’s my blady hair I have lived with it for fifty-eight blady years, yet she sees it for a brief hour and has it perfected! I expect you to all take a minute or two here….and Google this question please 😊.
Thanks to all of you for your love and enthusiasm always. I am so encouraged and truly adore you all. Thank you. Till next week. Stay safe, and remember, be kind to yourself, ALWAYS.
Mwah mwah
I was in hysterics reading this blog Liz..🤣could so relate to it
thanks for the kind words mwah mwah