Life with Dizabeth

Each week I excitedly post my blog, followed by spending the rest of the day realising all I did not include. I am loving writing and the interaction from all of you. Your comments are amazing thank you, I truly have such a full heart. I value all your interaction, so before we get started. A resounding thanks you 

There are so many memories of my mom besides those I shared with you last week, as batty as she was, she was my mom. I miss her, and treasure the memories (good and bad I guess like anything hey?)  One I adhered to mention last week, she had fads. She believed in UFO; s, Guides, after life and other “taboo” beliefs. So, in line with our fantasy theme of last week this perhaps was one of those you had to have been there situations, however I feel it is worthy of sharing with you dear reader. She was reading about some god, and this god would supposedly visit his people with a clickety clackety foot stepping sound. Now for that Christmas her and my dad had bought me roller skates. Those retro ones where you wore your shoes (takkies) and strapped them over. I had been skating with my friend next door Nicole we had decided to call it a day.  I recall as clear as day my mom’s expression as I entered the house, I was still wearing my rickety retro skates. She was convinced this god she was reading about has appeared to visit her. You can imagine her disappointment when around the corner arrived her Dizabeth. Crazy woman she was 😊

This morning I received a wonderful WhatsApp from a truly dear, dear friend which resulted in us spending the next hour (or more) reminiscing. Recently I was watching Your Honour (that is how I got addicted to Breaking Bad, Bryan Cranston was in Your Honour. If you have not watched it – it’s really worthwhile.) Anyhow sjoe if one thing is very, very clear to you dear reader. It is the fact that I seriously love movies, series, big screen, small screen, I love it!  Hmm now that I think about it, perhaps this love was born from all the fantasy I experienced as little Dizabeth?  Anyhow, so, another very clear thing here is how quickly I can digress! Where was I? Oh yes chatting to Charmaine. I was telling her how I recall in Your Honour Bryan Cranston’s character says how life aligns itself at the precise time and place that events/things/meetings are meant to occur. And many years later Charmaine and I remain the best of friends. Her and I met in Standard four (grade four). We had recently moved into the neighbourhood; it was my first day at school. I was trying very hard at crying subtly as I sat in the lesson. Remember, we used to have those double seater wooden desks with the lid that opened? Oh, my word, I recall the one day, I hate to admit this, but I was writing on the desk. Probably drawing a heart with some young boy’s name, I thought I was going to marry one day, who no doubt did not even realise I was in his class, never mind alive. So, there I was when there was a resounding boom in my ear. The teacher bellowed: “Elizabeth do you draw on your mothers dining room table like this?” Suffice to say I spent an afternoon or two in detention sanding down desks with other caught out desk top designers.  So, cast your mind back dear reader to my first day at school when the young lass sitting next to me raised her hand. “Yes Charmaine” responded Miss Anthony. To which Charmaine nonchantly replied: “Miss Anthony I DON’T sit next to cry babies”. The rest dear readers as they say, “is history” and an amazing history, some of which I am about to share with you. Me oh my, did Charmaine and I have some brilliant times from those little girls we were, right up to the here and now still treasuring our friendship, even though we are now seas apart.

As you no doubt have fathomed, my mom was extremely strict, and at the same time quite – um what would one say, tumultuous? As I mentioned, her and I could have both easily acquired the lead roles in any family drama you can think of. This often led to me literally being kicked out of home. I recall packing all my belongings, including my Pink Panther. I would phone Charmaine. Her mom, Mrs. Hack would answer. I would bravely say “Hi Mrs. Hack, please could I speak with Charmaine.” her reply always was “We on our way.” I would move in with the Hacks until mom decided she had either proved her point or was missing me. Usually, it was proving her point!

I don’t recall many adventures from our standard four year, although one that stands out clearly. Our math teacher Mr. Bradfield was quite a dish. I remember at the end of the school year, writing to him to confess my undying love for him. Yip you guessed it! The next year he was my class teacher, how awkward was that? Anyhow, to make it easier I recall he would perform all types of acrobats for us to understand the concept of whatever he was teaching us. This particular time Charmaine and I, if I recall correctly, we had failed a test and he reprimanded us from a dizzy height. So, Charmaine devised this “brilliant” plan (I reckon this brilliant idea came from the fact that we felt so humiliated in front of the class, not to mention the boys in the class) she said: “Lets ignore him!” We would no longer entertain his classroom antics. Now dear reader, can you imagine. The poor man must have suffered multiple sleepless nights, as these two were not laughing at his antics!

Fast forward a few years Charmaine’s folks owned a video shop and Charmaine and I worked there. Oh, my word, that was such fun too, new releases would arrive, and customers would ask “Has Rocky come in as yet?” we would earnestly reply: “No sorry try tomorrow” and we would watch the latest release. Thinking back that must have been dismal to not only the customer but to her folks as well. Do not go to that video shop they never have the latest releases! This day Mr. Bradfield came in to obviously hire some videos. Now back then I honestly used to wear a fair amount of make up (a lot!) and I truly, truly believed that this make up transformed me and I was nothing like I was without make up on. I remember my brother once mentioning if he married me, he would insist I wore make up 24/7. So, there I was this day behind the counter and before my eyes Mr. Bradfield walks in. Well – hmm I hate to admit this, but I still kind of had a crush on him. So, I quickly checked nothing was in between my teeth, all (and I mean all) my makeup was in place, my hair was perfectly coiffed …check check. Yip all in place. Once he had chosen his videos, he came to the counter. And didn’t I say, “And the name please” – to which he replied, “It’s still Mr. Bradfield Liz”. Well, well dear reader I wanted to literally plutz with embarrassment. I had honestly believed with my make up on etc., he would never recognize this young lady as the little whipper snapper that used to sulk and not laugh at his jokes.

I will admit Charmaine and I were quite late bloomers. I truly don’t know if this is just downright embarrassing, refreshing or actually brave to be admitting this? But in standard five Charmaine and I were still playing with our Barbies. Now we clearly were very, very aware that this was taboo when the very next year we were starting high school but we loved our Barbies, and to this day I still always steer myself towards them when in a toy shop. They evoke such lovely memories.

The Umhlanga Sands was the hip and happening club. The one day, actually thinking back, I recall the two girls very well, and they were actually true cow bags. We were in house craft (home economics these days) and these two were at the same table as Charmaine and me. They asked how our weekend had been. (It was at this stage we surely should have realized we had been set up. We clearly didn’t.)  Having never been to the Sands disco I have no idea why we did what we did next – but we did!

“Oh, it was fantastic, we were so, so tired and hungover (and as we all know this did become a reality to me in my latter life) on Saturday morning as we were at Sands disco” we replied.  Well clearly, they knew very well we had not been anywhere near Umhlanga Rocks itself, never mind the disco. And they proceeded to ask us to explain where precisely the disco was. Yip as you have guessed, we lied, they knew it and did they make a fool of us.

 In grade ten we had to choose subject choices. It was at this time that Charmaine and I would have been ideal candidates for the US presidency. I tried ever so hard to convince her to do art “we will draw all day long”. She tried with Geography, “lets do Geography, we will spend all day on field trips” – neither of us managed to convince the other to go for her vote. And the cherry on top after trying to sway the other into choosing the same subject we were both wrong. In fact, art was awash with History of Art – the book alone was wild. Talking about wild, I remember the day, for some bizarre reason I was in a bad mood. Unfortunately for me, Charmaine was with me when I slammed the glass door in the hall, cracking it. Well, she never let up until I went and admitted my guilt to the flippen head mistress herself. Now that was a random story wasn’t it!

We were not sports orientated. In fact, I believe if we had had to take part in a gala, we would to this day still be swimming. We detested sports (in fact we still do) Miss Turner I guarantee used to have herself a bet each week, what our excuse would be that day as to why we please needed to be excused.

Like all teens (well most) in that era Charmaine and I were smokers. (No, no this was a few years after we retired our Barbies) Actually thinking about it now I reckon most of us, whose parents smoked, were smokers. Unlike these days very few smokers are around, and the kids are dead set against it. But back in our day it was super cool. Charmaine and I were in her room (door closed obviously we were teenagers) and her mom opened the door and popped her head in, well of course we both very quickly hid our cigarettes behind our backs. Mrs. Hack chatted and chatted and chatted. When she obviously had timed it perfectly with a bemused expression, she finished her conversation with “Right I imagine your cigs have burnt out by now, I will leave you girls.” How did we ever think she could not smell the smoke? That reminds me years ago I worked in advertising, I recall in the interview, they asked if I smoked. Realising they were definite non-smokers I obviously told a white lie. I got the job, on the way to work every morning the little red UNO looked like a frikken cigar lounge. I would shove about five (not kidding) cigarettes down my lungs. The owners’ wife one day clearly could not take the irritation any longer and asked, “Are you a smoker?” to which I adamantly replied. “No! No, not at all, BUT Gary smokes and sjoe he smokes a lot”. When I quit smoking, I realised what a blady fool I must have made of myself!

Every payday Charmaine and I would dress up, catch the bus into town and do a bit of retail therapy. I used to love the clothing boutique Smiley Blue, think it was in West street. After shopping we would treat ourselves to a Chinese lunch at Tong Lok in 320 West Street. We truly thought we were the bee’s knees. The one year we even ventured to the Durban July. I recall being dismally disappointed that the television cameras had not interviewed us, let alone taken a photo for the Sunday Tribune front page. I can still recall I dressed in a Lady Di outfit. Whatever her fad of the time was, I was in it. The one weekend (Charmaine had learnt to drive, with me sitting in the back of the car as her mom taught her to park). Off we went for a weekend to the Wild Coast casino. I do not recall if we won or what we even did, but boy oh boy do I recall the drama that ensued. Charmaine had received a truly beautiful diamond ring from her folks (maybe it was her eighteenth). We drove all the way down the South coast, and on the bridge just before the entrance to the casino there were little kids begging. She was adamant they had somehow ripped it off her finger. Well,  the police were called, the hotel security got involved. Drama, drama, Drama! It turned out when her poor dad finally got a word in edge ways that she had forgotten the blady ring at home.

Before Charmaine got her license, she lived in Glenashley and for some reason we were wanting to go to Umhlanga, and her folks (my folks were “those” parents, who never ever lifted the friends, so of course when my boys were kids, I was always Mom’s taxi, myself and Lorraine) anyhow, we decided to walk to Umhlanga. Every car that drove passed we shrunk from the “degrading” episode it was. Since we so hated sport, I am actually super impressed we walked that far! Wait a minute,  there were quite a few occasions when we were “forced” to walk. The one-day Debbie, Charmaine’s younger sister walked there and back with us to the La Lucia Mall, the poor girl bought herself a watermelon, a whole watermelon – and do you know we point blank refused to help her carry that dreaded melon home, and then when she woulnOt share with us, we were shocked and horrified.

As human’s we really are blessed with the gift of memories.  This morning Charmaine and I visited yester year and shared many good laughs. I have always sworn, if you find a place in my heart, you truly are there for life. My friends and family are extremely special to me. Sharing memories such as these truly is one of life’s greatest gifts. They say people come into your life for a reason, a season and if you lucky enough for a lifetime. Charmaine, I thank you for that day you raised your hand and told Miss Anthony you do not sit next to cry babies. Since then, you have been there to wipe away many a happy and sad tear.

I love you – stay safe in this scary time we live in.

To all of you my dear friends and family thanks for following my blog. Thanks for inspiring me each week with your encouragement, and love.

Till next week 

Mwah mwah.

I was watching a movie earlier this evening (it was a pathetic thriller) I can just hear Chad saying: “What a waste of an hour and a half of my life”. The one character states she will never allow her children to believe in Santa, the Tooth Fairy, or the Easter Bunny as the disappointment would be too much when the children find out that’s all fantasy. (Wait a minute – you do realise these are fictional – right?) It immediately took me back to when I was a little girl. Ok, before we go back on a journey with Dizabeth as a little girl it is quite an interesting topic. Besides religious reasons, what’s your opinion? I will let you know mine at the end of this, so yip, if you are intrigued as to my opinion, read on dear reader, read on.

I am very sure my precious sister will recall our childhood and fantasies in it. No, no, don’t get sidetracked here, I am not talking about that kind of fantasy.

So, not dissing my mom, but she wasn’t ever really a contender for mom of the year award, ever, in fact she was an oddball. I am not saying this disrespectfully, I told her plenty times, she was a mom’s A (arse). She and I fought plenty in my growing up years, she was quite strange and very, very strict. But you know, in a very big way, I thank her. I (Gary and I actually) have always, always received the most amazing compliments regarding both our gorgeous boys. When sleeping over at friends as kids, be it at school, where ever they were, they were always well mannered and just damn nice, salt of the earth boys. They still make us proud every day. (Well no, not every day that’s a huge exaggeration but you know what I am meaning).  So, I do believe, in some bizarre way both Karen and I took the nice things that my mom had instilled in us, and did our best at raising damn fine kids. Yip, now I have added Karen’s kids into the mix. But truly they are four damn fine humans, they really are. So thanks Mom for that strange bit of spice you threw into the recipe of Life, and our teachings.

Right, casting my mind back now. I recall when we were kids, my mom used to instruct (yip I told you she was strict!)  Karen and I to bath, eat dinner, and then right after dinner, she would tell us to meet her on her bed, and story time commenced. Now before I go on, it was only when I was in Matric (yip took me this long to figure it out!) at around 6amish I would be getting ready for school, my dad would lift us (that’s a whole new story) and my mom would be sitting in the lounge, (she was an early riser, and would be up at 5 am) with her really, really tall glass of “water”. Now this really, really tall glass of water, had a yellowish tinge to it, and she would always, after taking huge gulps of it say she was really thirsty and so loved her “water”. It was odd to me, how this “water” used to really change her, she would start speaking Swahili. I finally worked it out! The water was in fact wine. Yip, my mom was an alcoholic. I have to say, I do believe I am too. You get different types of alcoholics I know. And it’s for this reason, I do believe, I am one of these types (that, dear reader is also a story for another time and oh my word, trust me you will be needing tissues from wiping away your tears when you read that and not because it’s not a sad story, it’s a hugely crazy, funny one). So yikes I really digressed this time! So, there are Karen and myself sitting on my moms and dads bed (No it wasn’t a big feather bed, shucks remember that song “Grandma’s Featherbed – we once had a class assembly and I remember us singing that – good memory that – truly lovely memory).  So there we were, on the bed, and my mom, clearly having consumed a glass (hmmm more than likely a bottle) of wine, would truly take us on the most incredible journey. Their headboard was quite plush, with buttons on it. Do you remember that fashion? In fact, I still see it around. So, mom would let either Karen or I choose a button to push, oh wait, that’s right, each button represented a different Land. The Land of Chocolate, or Toys, Princesses etc., and once we hand pushed that button. Oh my word, she truly was amazing, inebriated or not I recall truly, truly believing we were visiting that land we had chosen. Shame even as I type this, I get a warm fuzzy feeling, those were really special times.

When it came to Christmas and Easter mom really made it a magical time. I do recall my dad’s attitude. Oh, my word he was a cantankerous father. In fact, he was a cantankerous human.  He would always say “this is just commercial god damn bullshit” if I think about it now, he was probably always so bummed at the amount of money my mom spent on making sure our Christmases and Easters were the very best. Now, this dear reader is my favourite season. Funny, Karen, doesn’t enjoy Christmas time. (Not too sure how she feels about Easter) but she always says she finds Christmas stressful. The rushing around, the crowds the whole shebang are not for her. Me, Oh my word Christmas especially is my absolute favourite. Decorating the house – I collect Santa’s. My collection is truly truly magical, the real old-world Santa’s. They range in different attire, but ah I treasure them.  I wonder if the boys will love them as much as I do one day when I pass on. Interesting that? When Ryan in particular was small, I recall taking a pair of Gary’s work shoes and throwing baby powder on the floor, from the front door leading to the Christmas tree. I was so chuffed with myself for my originality. (Never mind the total waste of a whole tub of powder and the blady sore back I had). That is till Ryan came stumbling through, glanced at the “snowy” footprints, and asked why I had thrown baby powder all over the floor.

Who agrees with me, the kid’s advent calendars were a true waste of money when bought when they were three or four (maybe even five) they would eat them all in one swoop. Talking chocolate Easter fills me with wonderful memories of my childhood.  Each Easter we had an aunt and uncle (now I am not sure if they really were our aunt and uncle – when we were young even the folks’ friends were classed as our aunts and uncles) so not too sure to this day which Uncle Les and Aunty Renee were, but my word they used to arrive with the most impressive, biggest Easter eggs I had ever seen. Karen would – I actually don’t know how the heck she got them up there, but she used to display them on her curtain pelmet. I of course had wolfed all of mine and would look longingly at hers I don’t recall if she ever did eat them, or shared them with me. Funny enough, my brother-in-law, Gerard, apparently did the exact thing as Karen as a kid. But his siblings were way cleverer than me, they used to carefully remove the fancy foil wrapper, take chunks out of the back of the molded bunny and Gerard would never realise.

When the boys were much younger it was our Easter Tradition, friends and ourselves would hire a bunny suit, and with the kids in tow, we all trekked down the South coast. Each evening us adults would party up a storm, and I recall Easter Sunday before the kids awoke we would drag ourselves out of bed and go hide a copious and wide variety of eggs in the garden. An Easter egg hunt was order of the day. Gary would dress up as the Easter bunny, and we would ensure the kids got a sighting as the Bunny hopped around the garden. All ran swimmingly every year. Until one year, Ryan sidled up to me and asked “Mom how come the Easter bunny has the same watch as dad, and mom, where is dad?”  He probably was about six and Ricky seven, the next Easter we had to swear both boys to secrecy as their younger brothers watched in awe as the Bunny hopped around.

Talking Bunnies. When both boys were small, they loved their dummies and bottles. Ryan in particular truly loved his bottle. We were on holiday in the Cape and I recall Uncle Percy telling Ryan that when it was his birthday the Birthday Bunny would come and take his bottle for the baby bunnies. I remember us prepping him for weeks before his birthday. The day his birthday dawned my heart quietly broke for him (I know how I feel to this day when someone says the bottle of wine is finished) but he did us proud and bravely accepted that the Bunny had taken his bottle. Chad, now he adored his dummy and as much as he adored them he also constantly lost them. He loved the Honey dummy, remember that one, it was all rubber? Actually the majority of his photos, I never thought to remove his blady dummy! So yip his photos are a bit like the little ones and actually us, these days we are going to have heap of photos with our stupid masks on. When I read the newspaper I swear I am always flummoxed as to why the heck they have the top students, with 80 distinctions (another exaggeration) and this award and that award and the next award, all posing with their frikken masks on! What the heck, one day when these kids brag to their kids about how good they were at school how academic they were, the kids looking at their parents photos are going to be: “Ja right as if – who even says this is you mom!” Oh, my word, I totally digressed here, even re-reading this now, I was thinking ok so Liz what was the whole point of Chad and his dummy? Well as Ryan adored his bottle he adored his dummy. That is till the Sunday we were at the Stables (the flea market in Durban back in the day) and he lost his dummy. Shame I will never forget his little mouth, sucking in and out that night as he slept with no dummy. Poor little chap.

So last but not least, we have the Tooth Fairy. How many times did you only remember you hadn’t put money under their pillow, that morning when you heard your little one stirring as they rumpled up their bed linen desperately searching for the money the Tooth Fairy had left? You drop the egg lifter discard the eggs sizzling in the pan and race through to grab your purse, you frantically race around looking hitherto for your bag – finally you find your bag but your purse isn’t there and stubbing your toe on the foot of the bed you race from room to room finally finding your purse back in the kitchen – right where you started this big search! The other debate was just how much to leave under their pillow. I remember the excitement when that first tooth fell out (Or you helped them yank it out) you so, so happy to leave twenty rands, but you not really thinking this through, I mean there are plenty of teeth still to fall out. By the time all their milk teeth have fallen out, you’ll be needing to take out a second bond on your house. Yip I know you also fell into this trap. The other day I was at a market and saw the cutest little Tooth Fairy kit, it comprised of a big stuffed felt tooth, with a crown sewn on it, a little note pad and a cute little pencil. I started retrieving my purse out of my bag when I had a flashback to my younger Tooth Fairy days and my bruised big toe and decided against being the Nana that puts my kids through the Tooth Fairy situation.

So in conclusion dear reader. Yes, I do believe in allowing our kids (and grandkids) the pleasure of believing in Santa, (or Father Christmas – how do the Americans say it – tomato or tamato?) the Easter bunny and the Tooth Fairy. Our world back in the day wasn’t as hectic as it is now, and it was magical then.  I do believe more than ever these days it is a great fantastical fantasy jam-packed with FUN and definitely in my case, some awesome, full heart memories.

Have an amazing week ahead.

Thanks for all your kind comments. You truly make my heart so, so full.

My word, you really are an amazing bunch of humans.

Take care, be safe, and remember whether there is a camera around or not….wear those masks!

And then there was one ….

Yesterday I noticed with utter dismay that our little “boy” didn’t seem as spritely as usual. I kept a beady eye on him all day. I reckon he was just having an off day which I figure we are all entitled to I had to smile to myself, Yip… I am digressing already! I was chatting with a friend, we were discussing socializing on these chilly winter evenings. She started to say she really didn’t encourage going out in the winter because: – It was at this stage I mentally thought, Yip friend, I get what you about to say when she proceeded to say “the thing is, it’s chilly” right I agreed with her, it certainly is and then she went on to say“and I really don’t enjoy keeping Toby outside when we out”.  Now the reason this resonates so with me and I was so delighted to hear, is because I am exactly the same. To fill you in dear reader, we had Pebbles and Bandit, who were brother and sister and besties of note. In December we noted the one morning that Pebbles had woken with a new look, that of a chipmunk. Gary and I teased her, and laughed about it, thinking nothing of it. I reckoned it was perhaps a bite, she is always chasing after nunu’s especially flying nunu’s. When she was a puppy she chased and caught a hornet and he gave her what for to that! I raced her off to the vet and they gave her an antihistamine and that was it – she never did learn though, through the years she got stung plenty times. Plus, the important fact here, her demeanor hadn’t changed at all. She was Chippy Chipmunk in looks but in character, she was her same dear old self. Anyhow after day two, we decided perhaps she has an infection in her glands, so off we went to the vet. Truly not suspecting anything untoward. We were devastated to hear that they suspected Lymphoma. As you have already surmised, it was a sad ending. Our precious little Pebbles is in pet heaven with Captain, Meeks, Jenna, and the rest of the Motley Crew of Robbertze Pets. So, of course, her little bestie, Bandit has been our everything since then (January 2021) I kid you not. I remember years ago, I spotted a Patricia Lewis clone at the local nursery, she had her little dog in a pram. I kid you not, in a pram! As rude as it is to stare, that day, that is precisely what I could not stop doing. Anyhow recently I needed to drop work goodies off at one of my private schools. It’s quite a drive, I felt sorry that Bandit would be home alone for longer than usual so I bellowed to Bandit, and off we went. He loves the car, every day when Gary is due home, Bandit sits at the gate, when Gary arrives he takes Bandi along the road to see all his friends. He has one in particular who has learnt the sound of Gary’s car and runs to the fence and barks at Bandit – and of course Bandit talks (Barks back). So, should you next read we have a pram for our beloved Bandit, please just smile and wave (kidding, I would never go that far, or would I?)

With the cooler weather, I put a doggie suit on Bandit so he doesn’t feel the cold too much. (obviously Liz!) The first couple of hours he slinked around the house, I do believe he was silently praying no one pitched at our house to visit, or we took him for a drive. Imagine that, being seen with this ridiculous clown suit on. That is until he realized this is keeping me warm. Funny thing that hey. Remember when the kids were small we would be cold so insist they put a jersey on.

So yip as I was saying, Bandit is our everything, we have three cats, but their attitude is a definite: Get outta here with your blady clown suits, and car rides.  Although, saying that, Fraidy Cat firstly, is the most beautiful cat in the whole wide world. She is dear reader, with the most beautiful nature. Oh my word, she is so loving (hmm maybe translated it is actually needy) but what a character she is. She is twelve, going on twelve weeks. Simply put she has the most amazing zest for life. She still, I am not joking plays hide and seek with the other cats. Grooms Bandit (yip you read correctly) and in her lifetime we have had three snake incidents with this little princess.  We bought her as a kitten, she was actually returned to the pet shop. She had the meanest tummy bug (I am damn sure that’s why whoever owned her took her back) and wasn’t that the best thing that idiot ever did because she became a Robbertze. Anyhow, Gary is for this reason convinced she is older than we thought. She is a tiny cat with long fluffy fur (yip – I told you – she is beautiful) anyhow we had her hmmm maybe two months and Gary said “This cat is pregnant” of course I was shocked and said, “Never, not my little princess.”

Well, she was!  So she was expecting (she became a mum, due to the fact she fell hopelessly in love with Merlin the cat next door) she was venturing in the garden when she came in, her eyes were in definite need of attention. She had been spat in the eyes by a Mozambican spitting cobra. (They frequented our house and garden). Due to the spitting in the eyes incident, Fraidy sadly lost her first kitten when she gave birth. The second snake incident we found her sitting in the sun chewing, on closer inspection we noticed it was a thin green snake and she had its head in her mouth as it wrapped itself around her body. The third snake incident, she was making a funny noise, so I went to investigate and there, half-dead was another Mozambican Spitting cobra.

Whilst Fraidy dodges and ducks the snakes in the vicinity we had (yip sadly – had) as they both have also joined the Motley Pet Crew in pet heaven. Meeka, our beautiful German shepherd whom we adopted from the SPCA and Captain. Now. these two had serious character flaws that sprung to life when they were within breathing space of each other. Oh my word! Meeks tried so hard, to no avail. Cappies was the Captain of this clan and it was his way or the highway for anyone who didn’t adhere (A bit like Gus Fring in Breaking Bad – yip I am seriously addicted and loving this series). On that note, digressing slightly again! I watched Breaking Bad with a bottle of my finest Light white wine. Now dear reader I am truly loath to admit, but on Sunday morning, I made myself comfy on the couch, and put on Breaking Bad, where I had left off the night my vino was finished.  Alas! I was so confused what the heck, when and how did Gus die? And on that note, why is Ted Beneke in hospital? Yip dear reader, as you no doubt have already realized, my vino and me, or is it perhaps menopause,  but this mind of mine, she has her own life. And she frequently forgets what occurred, now at this stage I am passing it off as a glass too many, I do hope that it isn’t frikken something more serious.

So I was introducing Meeka to you, what a sweet-natured dog she was. We chose her as she looked fierce and so therefore would most definitely deter any wanna be baddies from choosing our wall to climb over. Well, the one morning we awoke, the car had been broken into, and when we did have visitors enter our premises, Meeka truly was scary. Scary in the fact that the only way they would have died was by being licked to death. She loved everyone. She loved meal times just as much. Except for boiled eggs. Why I hear you ask, why would you give your dog a boiled egg? Well, I had made a few and the one was really a train wreck after I attempted peeling the shell off. Since I really don’t enjoy wastage, my thoughts were of course she will eat it. I called her she was already right at my side waiting for any tidbits that she knew came her way when I was in the kitchen. Now, this I don’t know if I can even begin to describe as vividly as it occurred. I swear it was really, really funny, and I guess it was one of those situations whereby you had to be there. I casually threw the train wreck of a boiled egg to Meeks. We were like a finely tuned team I threw the egg with precise precision, she gracefully moved in towards me, with the speed and swiftness of a Fish Eagle she opened her largemouth. I to this day am not entirely sure, if it was the texture of the egg or the taste, mind you she didn’t even give the poor train wreck of an egg time to even consider its taste, and with a force of gusto truly similar to a tornado tearing through a town she spat it out. I will always remember the expression on her face. It was a case of really, really mom was that for real? 

Whilst on the subject of food and feeding dogs in particular. When we moved to Nelspruit Chad was in Grade two, the local schools were majority Afrikaans, so Chad was at the local Afrikaans school which had an English class per grade. He came home after his first day, in fact I noticed when I fetched him from school, all the kids coming out. (Now we moved in July, so it was a really cold winter). These little kids came out sporting winter jackets, beanies, gloves the whole shebang. But they were barefoot. I kid you not they were barefoot, each and every one of them! I asked Chad “why do the kids not have shoes on boy?” He was as flummoxed as me. We soon learnt it was the Afrikaans way, they never wore shoes in fact to this day the kids don’t wear shoes to school.  But it was at this stage that he was truly perplexed at a particular habit the kids had. At break time once they clearly had had sufficient of their sandwich, without batting an eye, they would throw their sandwich on the ground and walk away. Now dear reader, I was seriously pondering, just what flippen school have we registered him in? This is no good we will need to move him. What the heck, no shoes and just throwing their lunch down – I mean come on man! Anyhow, a few days later, he came home delighted as he has solved the mystery of the abandoned sandwiches. There was a very grateful candidate for these sandwiches, his name was George. George was a Saint Bernard who resided in one of the houses across the street. The kids, were in fact not throwing away their sandwiches. All their moms made a sandwich for George as well as their kids, each day. So yip you guessed it – before long I was also making sarmies for George, Chad, and Ryan. Oh and to this day, I still make for Gary. A while later, I met one of my dearest friends, she had the most fantastic Book club evening once a month. I will save that story for another BLOG. But the first time I stepped into Marcel’s house, there in all his splendor was dear old George. When Marcel and Riaan bought their house, George came with it. The previous owners had three kids who went to that school (it was across the road from their house).  When that family vacated George stayed, and each morning would go across for the school day, and return once school was done for the day.

Well dear readers, that is all from me for this week.  I have been so soooo engrossed on reading, re reading, checking and re checking before I post this and at the exact time I realized I could hear a pop, pop, popping sound occurring in the kitchen – I smelt it – my rice is definitely overdone. L

Thanks for all your encouragement, please, tell your family and friends about me, I would be so super chuffed to have trillions of Followers.

Be Blessed.  Till next week. Stay well and warm.

Oh, one last thing, the photo of me on my blog, that’s Bandit – how cute is he!

Blog 2 – 7th June 2021 – Morning Drive

Last Friday it was a chilly, yet sunshiny, wintery morning and I had the pleasure of being in the most ‘valued’ advertising time in radio lingo – Morning drive. What’s so unusual about driving a morning drive? I hear you ponder to yourself. Well for the past, probably 13 years having worked and continuing to work from home. I am never (well that’s an exaggeration) let’s say I am very rarely in traffic. I have the odd very early morning, and now that I think about that, it is that early that I actually miss the morning drive. Once again, I digress! So, as I drove bumper to bumper amongst the executives, school mama bears, kiddies, truckers, and taxi’s I am sure they could not help but notice my serene aura. Giving the driver in the wrong lane a gap, happily.  Smiling as I sang along to Freddie Mercury with Bandit peeking out the window. I am so sure the other drivers were thinking – where the heck is this odd ball off to with the hugest grin on her face and her little dog peeking out the window? I was on my way to fetch Gary who had dropped his car off before work for a service.  I mentioned how cold it currently is, so when I left home, I seriously considered, and after much mental negotiation with myself I won, and the favourable decision was to just go and change Liz. I was so snug and comfy in my pajammies, I bought them from the Woolies sale last year, they are size 13-14 with fluffy cat ears on the front together with stripy pants this, with my navy blue gown with pink hearts all over it and my Cape Union (no, no not name dropping – just setting the scene) furry slippers – yip, you get the picture! So, I very hesitantly changed into old (actually they not that old) track pants and a jersey, and off I went, joining that early morning traffic.

I remember when we first moved here, the boys were still at school (obviously, I already mentioned I have worked from home for the past 13 years) and in the winter months I used to happily drive them to school each morning in my pajammies. I never ever, once negotiated with myself back then. Nope I just grabbed the car keys, reminded the boys to take their lunch boxes as we headed out the front door. I wonder if they ever used to silently pray “Please Lord if mom is going to have a bumper bashing this morning, please let her already have dropped me at school”. The embarrassment of them having to bear witness to me disembarking the car at the accident scene avoided for another day. Can you imagine! In fact, when Ryan was writing matric, I did just that! A motor bike was ahead of me at a stop street, as he started to ease forward, so did I – but as I did I was looking behind me (I have no idea dear reader why I was looking behind me) and the biker had stopped, so I gently nudged him. He never had a license so we didn’t even swop details, he just wanted to high tail it away from the “scene of the crime”.

When we still lived in Durban my dear friend Jane and myself, had had a “Robbie Williams Live at Knebworth” evening the night before. I had actually just finished washing and drying my hair, when she casually rang (she lived a road away from us). Gary and the boys were at soccer practice, and Jane and I decided spur of the moment, let’s do this! We consumed copious amounts of wine as we both whined along to Robbie William’s. The next morning, I swear to this day, I was still inebriated when I drove to work and the kids to school. I was at a stop street, a dilapidated garden service smallish truck in front of me.  I again thought he had moved on and whamo, into the back of him I drove. Well he got out, and I sat in the car, beckoning him to drive off, as there was not a big issue here surely dude, your truck has definitely seen better days – what’s a little fender bender?. I recall, he actually did jump back into his car and off he drove. As did I. The boys narrowly escaping another potentially embarrassing encounter with Mother Dearest.

Another time, my luck, I had loaned my mom in laws Honda Ballade, and was stopped at a stop street just down the road from Chad’s school – when I felt a slight bump. I proceeded to try and start the car again, to which Chad, horrified asked what exactly was I trying to do, I very confidently explained to him that didn’t you feel that, I stalled the car, so I am starting it again. “Mom, we were hit from behind”. I looked into the rearview mirror and there was this lady signing to me her greatest apologies! Now that morning dear reader I was totally sober. My word, I am sounding as if I make a habit of drunk driving. I can assure you I don’t, and that morning with the garden service truck I definitely was just hugely hung over.

We have a circle of very dear friends here in Nellies. In actual fact, it’s ourselves and two other couples. The one couple has access to a very delightful, beautiful tranquil quaint dam, which even has some fish residing in it – much to Gary’s absolute joy. It really is incredibly scenic and relaxing, so, more so in the blistering summer months. The three couples head out, we meet at the farms’ gate, and off we tootle to chill and catch up with each other with a drink in hand as we enjoy a beautiful Lowveld sunset. It was on one of these occasions, this time it was leaning towards winter, so it gets dark earlier. We take our dogs with, so once the dogs, had played, and we all had caught up with each. We packed up our cars, and headed out the farm gate onto the freeway. Now, as you heading towards town, there is a traffic circle. At the time there were no traffic signs warning a driver of the traffic circle directly ahead of you. Gary was the first of the three couples, there I sat with my customary big winter jacket and of course as always my beanie. As I sat chatting to Gary discussing what a wonderful sunset it was etc., when out of nowhere, we were suddenly 4x4ing, the smooth freeway replaced by the roughest terrain and as quickly as this 4×4 route commenced it ended and we were back on the smooth tar of the freeway, approaching a stop sign.  Well, I will never be able to convey the complete shock and embarrassment I felt at that time. We realized, Gary, who had actually not even consumed his customary beer at the dam – had driven right over the circle. When we stopped at the stop sign I swear our friends in the car next to us, were crying they were laughing so much. Apparently to witness us from behind was one of their funniest and memorable sights ever! Me and my beanie bobbing up down and sideways as we traversed the bumpy terrain and then whoops back on the straight narrow and smooth freeway. Oh my word, we have never been able to live that moment down. For the records, there is signage now.

I recently, well, I truly loved my previous car. I swear every week some stranger would stop and ask me what make she was. She was gorgeous. A very different blue (I can’t actually describe the blue, hmm a sexy blue) and she was meaty. A little 4×4 type look. She was in actual fact, a Chinese special – a GWM M4. Anyhow we fast approached the time where we had to fork out for the residual or sell her. Which we duly did (sell her). Now, Gary has always been a very straight, accountant, yip, so I will say no more. So he always chooses white. His dear wife on the other hand, red, blue, and now this time we bought a Swift, and yip, you guessed, for me – a white car – no way. So I decided on a very unusual, funky, and extremely trendy what I called gun metal colour. Oh I was so so proud those first weeks driving her around Nelspruit. I would commend myself often on my fantastic choice of colour, definitely an unusual colour. Kudos to me I would think as I walked towards her in the shopping mall parking bay. Fast forward a couple of months. My gun metal car, is one of thousands. Once in the traffic I kid you not – there were three of us all in a row. So dear reader, don’t ever whisper a word to Gary – but my word, I wish I had listened to him this time. A white car would have been fabulous and I guarantee not half as popular as mine is today.

After I posted last week’s blog. I thought of a trillion things, I didn’t include in the post. I sure am hoping this week, I have pretty much covered everything. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I have loved writing and actually reminiscing. Have an amazing week and look forward to reading next week’s blog. Lastly, THANK YOU GAZILLIONS. I have had such a full heart. Your love and support with my blog. WOW, WOW, WOW THANK YOU.

Till next week, stay well and warm and mostly healthy and please stay far, far, very far away from the 3^rd wave all my specials.

As most of you know, I have a true passion for writing that goes back to the times of the ox-wagons. I do believe I was blessed in my school days, as typing was a subject I chose. Truth to be told, the reason I chose typing, was as simple as the fact that it wasn’t a learning subject, so how easy would that be to ace an A. Ok, so whilst we on easy peasy acing an A subject choices, I also chose Art. And dear reader that didn’t work out too well, whilst I imagined myself drawing all through the lesson I never imagined the enormous book we would be handed – the subject: The history of Art. However, I do need to add at this point, I actually did better in the history part of art than I did the creative. Turned out I wasn’t really born a Picasso nor a Michelangelo. Anyhow back to the typing story…..  I don’t recall ever really receiving an A but I do thank goodness for that early life choice, which to this day I use each and every day. Typing and my love of writing. My love of stories I definitely inherited from my mom and dad who to their dying day were 100% book worms. Always with a book, in my dad’s case, more than one book, easy within his reach. I recall writing my English essays at school, oh my word the poor English teacher would literally have to mark off the rest of her day as she read my essay. I totally lost myself in whatever the subject choice was. For me there was no such thing as word count. I recall the teacher being as enthralled, as I was with my “who dun nit”, the down side of that however was we were both quite confused as to who was who in the story, I remember her comment:”You have great potential however who was the killer in the end?”  

Now, when I reflect back on my writing, I do recall an essay I got zero for. To this day I always seem to find the subject choice a bit of a challenge. With that particular essay I hear you asking yourself Why oh why (sigh, sigh) did she score so dismally? Because, I wrote, word for word, the script from the original “Jaws” movie, what was I thinking? As I say, I wrote scene for scene, no jokes. My story played out exactly as the movie had rolled on the big screen. I clearly must have believed I was the only one who would rush to the cinema to see the movie.

 On the subject of marks and averages – I do need to confess at this stage, albeit I have completed a few writing courses and yes, acquired quite good marks – alas! The dear, dear old comma and me! We have an issue, I to this day after the courses and my schooling am still pretty confused as to when and when not to use the dear old comma. So dear reader …be warned! Throughout this blog I am so very sure there are going to be commas where there should not be, and commas missing where they should have been. Apologies in advance – what can I say …..comma comma chameleon ….. you either gonna see her or you won’tJ.

I recently found a letter I had written to my gran as a teenager. Yip! You read that correctly, as a teen I was writing and to my gran nogal. They say that writing is catharsis. And for me it is. It’s my happy place, the fact that I finish my writing with a sore, stiff neck is beside the point! When we first settled in Nelspruit, I cannot recall off hand but I am leaning towards I think it was each week, I would send a “newsletter” back home to all our (my) specials. Sharing with them all our adventures. Let’s face it Nelspruit (Mbombela) and her beautifully scenic surrounds really does have plenty to brag about. Albeit, with each frikken passing year, thanks to the state of the country (dare I start this conversation!)  It has become rather a daunting expedition, as you either dodge the potholes, stones being lobed at your car, or tyres being burned.  All depending on what the protestor’s subject choice on that given day that you innocently, (and excitedly) are exploring our wonderful region. Digressing now, so, as no doubt have you surely realised, I have an extreme passion for writing, and hence why this BLOG has been born.

I am quite confident, through these turbulent times of COVID and other unforeseen scenarios of this that we call Life, you and I will save ourselves heaps on therapy costs by you simply reading my blog and my tapping away on my keyboard. Time for me to post my first post. Here’s hoping you enjoy reading it as much as I totally, totally love writing and sharing. As I say….. Therapy perhaps??

I have finally learnt to accept who I am. To love Liz as she is – christened Elizabeth. As a young girl when I was in trouble with my mom – she would holler Elizabeth. So as I grew with me as myself, doing this that is my life I always introduced myself as Liz. Throughout my teens into early adulthood I was often referred to as Dizzy Lizzy. To be frank, I hated that. In my latter years, I have almost regretted not introducing myself back then as Elizabeth. Figuring it too late now, I have settled on Liz.

As I continued with my life and became a wife following onto the most rewarding title: Mom. I learnt it wasn’t really a Biggy what I was called, as long as whatever and whenever I was beckoned it was with a full heart and lots of love.

With my boys raised and now living and building their own lives and having survived the Empty nest Syndrome. I am now a Nan, and life at home with my hubby, furry family and myself isn’t all bad. I have learnt to cherish time alone – getting to know this woman called me. I have rediscovered passions and pleasurable pastimes. Namely painting, reading and writing.  I awaken each morning to a comfortable working day complete with having the privilege of deciding what I would prefer for dinner each night. After a fairly decent dinner, I retire as a 58 year old lady with my feet perched on the couch, my cats and dog snuggled up next to me as I surf the channels until I find one of my favourite weekly programmes to catch up on. All this as my hubby sits and peruses the daily newspaper.

With both boys (and our precious little grandson) in different cities. I started to ponder if you could Liz – what would you like to do and I confidently replied to start a BLOG, to share my thoughts, my funny times, my inner thoughts, whatever they maybe.

So grab yourself a glass or mug of your ultimate refresher, get comfy and join me on my journey – on this the Life of Dizabeth.