Tamaletjie (Sticky Toffee)

Some days I feel I should write an intro to my blog like: Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been 6 weeks since my last blog … and then I remember, I’m not Catholic, it’s my blog and no one cares!

I've been thinking about inner strength lately.

Some people just seem to have it. Some think they do but when the rubber hits the road they crumble or they lash out at the world or at another person or by their actions, they demonstrate that the strength is just not there, no matter how much they may say they have it.

It seems such a glib thing to say that someone has or doesn't have inner strength. There are courses peddled to help you grow it. There are memes, books, lengthy howtofixyourinnerstrengthpsychobabble lectures, but really, how does one fix it?

How do you NOT crumble when the world seems to be going crazy around you?

And no, I'm not asking for a friend.

I wonder whether some people are born with it, like the Maybelline ad says (Maybe she was born with it or maybe it’s just Maybelline) or whether it's something we can coach in kids, young people and even those who've gone their whole lives with a sense of trembling inside.

They're tired. Someone just broke their inner strength somehow and they don't know how to fix it

Don't you just love it when people say: "You're too sensitive?"

Ok, so where's that tap, that magic button one turns off?

Maybe it's a bit like that "tamaletjie" a tough toffee our mothers made long before Wilson’s Toffees thought of it. A bit of a sticky subject and very brittle when you chew on it.

We look down on people who don't have it.

They're "fragile" or "hard work" or "high maintenance" or "needy" and somehow they didn't do "Inner Strength 101" when we did it and we're somehow superior because we're tougher on the inside

Maybe the sportsmen and women who are coached to deal with their opponents have that edge, maybe it's not even a matter of inner strength. Maybe it's a killer instinct.

Maybe it's just survival

And who decides who gets more of it and who gets less?

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Silken Stuff

Silken Stuff She buys a scarf, a memory of the places that they used to go She ties it all around her head And every time she wears it now The little slip of silken stuff Reminds her that She was enough He brings a scarf from faraway A little slip of silken thread He tucks it in his leather bag Between his business shirts and stuff Amidst the sights and fantasies And all the places that he’s been She knows that even faraway She’s been remembered on that day And that she is enough So many times he goes away Till every country is the same Hotels Dinners Meals And deals Shaking hands Exchanging names Playing endless corporate games Before he boards the last flight out His trusty PA must sneak out And thrust into his attaché A packaged slip of silken stuff A “memory” of his time away To let her know he thought of her And that she is enough Soon she has so many scarves So many memories His, not hers And all reminders of the times She’s been alone With nothing but A “leave a message a

Constancy There are days I ache for constancy. This thing that seems just out of reach. As I walk in the shadow and abiding presence of the Cape mountains which appear to be so eternal; so consistent in their very being; unchanging; constant, I’m reminded that even they are changing almost daily. But Dan Simmons, the well known American author writes: “Mountaineers know that all mountains are in a constant state of collapse – their verticality being inescapably and inevitably worn down every moment by wind, water, weather, and gravity – but.” As I contemplate this profound statement, I allow it to change my perspective. It has to. I am forced to accept the inevitability of change. I have no choice in the matter and this disturbs me. I don’t want things to change: I don’t want my children to grow older; It makes me very uncomfortable seeing a beautiful heritage building demolished only to be replaced by some bleak monstrosity: the result of overly progressive urban planning. I certai

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