Rambles from World's End

It is the last weekend in November and my little family and I sit down to watch our first Christmas movie of the year. There is Tigger and Pooh Bear and the little pink Piglet all dancing about singing happy songs about the Christmas tree and the joys of giving. Even Eeyore manages to crack a smile! It’s a simple children’s movie about how the inhabitants of “the hundred acre wood” help “Santa” deliver all the presents on time. The movie was very cute and our Butterfly thoroughly enjoyed it, especially “Tigger” who’s bouncing about seemed to inspire in her more energy than usual. Eeyore was, of course, greeted with great enthusiasm he was after all the very first Disney character she met. Despite our enjoyment I did start to wonder what happened to the types of Christmas movies we watched as children. The ones that spoke about the real reason for the Christmas celebration, the ones that acknowledged the religious aspect of Christmas time, it all seems to have been forgotten or shoved a

Tomorrow is my father’s birthday and tomorrow, in accordance with that which most will call it and what is accepted as the norm; my Dad will retire after forty odd years as one of the employed. Being my Dad and, I am proud to say, not of the norm he is not retiring but rather “embarking on his new career.” For his own private reasons my Dad will be tackling something completely different to what has become his “line of work” and will no doubt succeed, not for any reason other than he knows he will succeed. Growing up in the light of that positive attitude and his unshakable belief in his own and our abilities has given us all a firm starting block from which we, his children have launch off into adulthood. My brother’s and I have been infused from birth with my Dad’s positive energy and belief in us and though we have all made our share of mistakes and encountered our share of stumbling blocks we can all hold our heads up high look back and know we are who we are because we were taugh

Uprooting ones family and moving to a different country teaches one so many things. We have, in the short time we have been living here at the end of the world, learnt so much about ourselves and each other. Moving to the end of the world has highlighted for us what is truly important and though we regret a little that which we took for granted, we know that had we not made this move that which we deem important now would not be if we had not change our circumstances willingly. For the first time in our lives both the Mauritian and I made a conscious decision to sever the ties of friendship we made with a couple for the wrong reasons. It was a decision we agonised over as both the Mauritian and I are very loyal to those whom we call friends. It is both a blessing and a curse as we have, through the years, allowed ourselves to be used in the name of friendship. We have spent many recent winter nights huddled under a mountain of blankets and duvets reminiscing about the people we have en

I recently watch a “mini -series” called “The Last Templar.” I initially started watching it because I mistakenly believed, having admittedly only caught a glimpse of the trailer, that it was a story set at the time when the “Templar Knights” were at their Zenith. We all know the basic story of the “Templers” and the “treasure” they were charged with protecting, yet the legend of what that treasure is has changed from a simple golden chalice to a complicated blood line. The theories, legends and controversy are all very fascinating and the research material available in print and online is truly phenomenal. It is unfortunate that so much of it is utter rubbish but there are real jewels among the dirt if you take your time to look. We’ve all seen the movies or read the books about the “treasure hunters” searching for that elusive wooden chalice that holds the “gift” of eternal life. I am amazed that after so many thousands of years hidden away in the depth of some dark, unstable and wic

I recently attempted to reconnect with an ex boyfriend on Facebook, but as of now have had no response. There could be many reasons for this, one of them being he doesn’t remember me. I’m sure it is true that you remember more the ones who “dumped” you rather than the ones you “dumped.” I do hope that he will eventually accept my request and does remember me. I like to think that we would have been friends if it weren’t for the teenage complications that we weaved into the fabric of our relationship with too much anticipation and expectation. Ah yes the wisdom of age and the clarity of hindsight. I really did like him, and still do, at least I still like the memory of him even though he unceremoniously “dumped” me for the ex he would slate every chance he got. I don’t recall been particularly heart broken by the breakup I don’t think I really expected “us” to last forever but I was bummed at being single again. But despite all the “history” I would enjoy reconnecting with him and findi

The year before I was born my paternal grandmother died. I grew up in the knowledge that I bare a resemblance to her with similar talents and mannerisms. I recall my Dad telling me once that he believed that Ouma and I would have had a good relationship. I believe my Dad is right! My Dad would respond that he is always right, and he is, most of the time! I have always felt a bond with my Ouma and loved her despite never meeting her. She is a constant presence and influence in my life and a part of who I am. When our Butterfly was born it was immediately apparent to us that she bears a striking resemblance to her paternal grandmother who died the year before she was born. I was struck by this fact early on in my pregnancy and knew even then that she would resemble Alix. Again and again we see Butterfly doing things that reminds us of Alix. At six months Butterfly was crawling about her Grand-père’s house and came across a picture of Alix, she put her little hand on the picture and smil

This morning the Mauritian, Little Butterfly and I woke up to cloudless skies and miraculous sunshine. I felt positive and energetic for the first time since the official beginning of spring. So with determination I made a decision to over work my washing machine and wash everything in sight, well ok not everything but almost. Sheets, duvet covers, blankets, pillow cases, pillows and duvets all found their way into the bowels of my washing machine and out onto washing line in the sunshine. Even Little Butterfly’s donut got a good old stomping in the bath, I had fun but the Butterfly was not so sure she liked the idea of bathing her donut. There was much pulling, tugging, grunting and groaning as I manoeuvred the wet heavy dripping donut outside into the sun to dry. While stripping the butterfly’s bed her friendly, floppy, green frog, Frederick Le Frog, fell onto the floor looking rather forlorn, dull and smelling a little of a few too many nights closed to a bottle of milk. “Fewed” w

I sorted through my Butterfly’s clothes and put aside all those that no longer fit her. What a sad moment that was for me! Tears pricked my eyes and I sadly put to one side the little blue and pink tracksuits my very talented mum had sewed so lovingly for her. It brought back memories of the trek to find suitable fabric in order to make the garments. I remember how irresistibly cute my Butterfly looked in them and her new winter and summer pyjamas made for her all around the same period. They were fresh and new and far too big for her, but that made them all the more charming. There is a baby grow that has written across it “We love you Sarah-Marie” a pink polka dot outfit with a rabbits tail at the back and a little teddy bear peering out a pocket on the front and a blue and red “tie dyed” t-shirt that Butterfly wore a lot. They came, along with Butterfly’s favourite blanket, from my brother and my delightful sister-in-law in America, how can I give these away to someone else or sell

I have had a nostalgic week filled with wonders down memory lane while I sip on steaming coffee and gaze out the window at the pouring rain and watch my once colourful spring garden being torn to shreds by gale force winds. This morning’s sunrise has brought with it crisp clear blue skies and brilliant sunshine prompting a need to be outside wrapped up against the icy breeze just to feel the sunshine on my back with my laptop propped on Little Butterfly’s bright yellow table. As I look up my gaze falls on the dormant volcano that dominates the view from our back garden and I squint my eyes against the glare that reflects off the fresh layer of snow that coats the mountain. My Butterfly is wrapped in her duvet with her bottle of tea and her bowl of dry cornflakes watching a “Strawberry Shortcake” movie, the Mauritian is snoring quietly in our bed having a well deserved sleep in and I am, once again, feeling just a little sentimental. This week I remembered that a friend and my Grandfath

With my Little Butterfly more and more inclined to entertain herself or have friends over for a visit I am no longer in as much demand. I find myself completing my daily chores in less time and though I relish the free time to do as I please there is always this nag in the back of my conscience that there are other chores that need attending to and only get bigger if left any longer. So I decided to be responsible and all grown up and despite the dreary wet weather begin a good old spring clean. So for this week I have been wiping mould and dust off windows and window sills, dusting pictures, clowns and knickknacks, disinfecting bath, basins and toilet, moving the heavy furniture and vacuuming in the places unseen and employing much elbow grease scrubbing from the walls and furniture the etchings of my rather artistic Little Butterfly. I have emptied cleaned and repacked shelves, draws and cupboards and accumulated a number of rubbish bags worth of junk to be dumped. I’m not sure how i

My very talented mum always had one cupboard in her kitchen that all children were allowed to open, the “Tupperware” cupboard, and it was always in a mess. I remenber my many cousins, my little baby brother, my nephew and even my Little Butterfly having a rumble in that cupboard. They would leave “Tupperware” scattered on the kitchen floor for all and sundry to kick or trip over till it was thrown back in higgledy piggledy, ready for the next tiny fingered invasion. I recall my mum struggling to find the matching lids for certain sets and then giving up the search and just using any lid that fit. To this day it is seldom that you find a bowl with its matching lid in use in her fridge. Something unique to my very talented mum! Having witnessed the fun that was had in that cupboard I have adopted the same policy in my teeny tiny little kitchen in our humble abode at the end of the world. Little Butterfly is allowed to play with anything in that cupboard. I try desperately to keep it reas

I woke up this morning to the sounds of rain, not an unusual occurrence here at the end of the world, but there seemed to be something different today. Unlike most rainy mornings this morning was not cold, windy and dull when all you want to do is stay under the covers reading a decent piece of literature denying the existence of the dreary outside world. There have been many winter days when I have not opened the curtains in an attempt to keep the dreariness on the outside. Today had a different feel to it, perhaps it was the fact that it was light outside and the air wasn't icy, but today was reminiscent of a rainy spring morning back home. The Mauritian often tells me to stop referring to South Africa as home because I am only prolonging the feelings of home sickness that afflict me daily. I suppose in a way he is right, we chose to uproot ourselves and resettle at the end of the world. We were looking for a different way of life, a new way of doing things and, in some way, a n

I have a very dear friend who has a rather refreshing attitude towards life. If she were dead she would be, right now, turning in her grave at been called “dear.” She is cringing as she reads this wondering how sentimental I’m going to get and is hoping, I am sure, that I do not mention her name. So to avoid embarrassment to her I shall call her, Celeste! Now as I have said, Celeste has a rather refreshing attitude to life. She is exceptionally intelligent and had she the patience would likely spend her time studying and teaching the beauty and nuances of the English language. However, for Celeste, this use of her time and intelligence is far too grown up and rather stuffy. Yet it is something she could do without much effort at all. I am not afraid of English and I rather enjoy using complicated and little used words, I find them to be very descriptive and often much more enjoyable to use then the common everyday words that everyone relies on. Celeste, however, opened a whole new worl