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 I’m not sure if this will resound with anyone but being a bit of a music and lyrics junkie/tragic I often find inspiration from songs so I thought I would share some of them with my friends. Scroll on by if it doesn’t. Here’s the first from “In the Living Years” Every generation Blames the one before And all of their frustrations Come beating on your door… … So don't yield to the fortunes You sometimes see as fate It may have a new perspective On a different day And if you don't give up, and don't give in You may just be okay…  You know how the rest goes …  I’ve been doing a lot of beating on that door this week. I’ve been doing my fair share of blaming: Oh my goodness! I have been angry at the world; at Presidents and Prime Ministers and corrupt politicians and aaaaalllll the people I don’t even know who’ve played a part in my feelingstuckwithoutanycontrolandjustmadashellness, and I’ve even been mad as hell at Brené Brown even though I carry her book in my bag and liste...

  Eduquer une femme c’est éduquer une nation I make resolutions. At the start of each year I hear people saying: “ I do not make New Year’s resolutions,” and to be honest, I smile politely and nod my head in agreement but deep down inside I’m judging them! “How can they not,” I ask myself indignantly? Why would one not use the opportunity of this wonderful time of the year when one digit on the calendar changes excepting once in one hundred years when two digits change, to institute at least one or two improvements in ones life or at the very least, change one stinking habit?  I do confess to making a list of at least ten things I would like to get done every year and yes, one could call it procrastination particularly if one is making the same resolutions at the beginning of each year. At the beginning of the big COVID Lockdown a friend of mine sent me a two page list of 101 things to do during Lockdown. I was veritably salivating at the challenge! I could hardly wait to star...

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....

Granny's Hands Granny’s Hands           Hold my hand Granny Tell me again How many times is seventy times seven And what does forgive mean Tell me again.   Granny’s hands have spots all over Tell me again Why does the sun make everything better When tomorrow comes Tell me again.   Granny picks Rosemary and Lemon Verbena Everything smells Of Lemon Verbena Teach me again Granny Those easy lessons Of making things better With Lemon Verbena   Children can live on ripe pomegranates Pork crackling snacks  fresh Apple Pie Two late husbands and burying two children and yet, I only once saw her cry.   The way to fix things was to Unpack your cupboards “Sadness will go,” Granny would say. “Sadness can’t live in nice tidy cupboards,” But what do you do with it? Pack it away?   Granny’s hands were soft and gentle Rough and wrinkly At the same time   Hold my hand Granny Tell me again How many times is seventy times seven times seventy times...

 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 ...

  The Antiquated Hoover I have shamelessly plagiarised a new and delightful term from a creative friend of mine to whom I will refer as Nonnie Mouse on this stadium (and no, I am not translating directly from the Afrikaans “op hierdie stadium”) for no other reason than that I could not in my wildest imaginings share a stadium let alone a stage with his humble but huge talent. So the best I can hope for is that he will regard it as a compliment that I have sucked up this new and glorious contraption: the Antiquated Hoover to convey my latest ramblings. Manipulation. Say this word in company these days and you may as well spell it with an F. My guess is that no person alive would admit to being manipulative if you asked them outright. I’ve even cringed at the thought that I myself might have become quite adept at this particular skill. After all, I have convinced at least two toddlers in my lifetime that their food is actually made up of small, heaped teaspoonfuls of aeroplanes (yes,...

LITTLE GIRLS  LITTLE BOYS ~ By Stellamarie Nel Little girls, silly things, sugar and spice And all things nice Lots of wires and tricky bits To keep a man about his wits Little boys, scruffy knees, sticks and stones And broken bones Taking everything apart Stealing every mother’s heart Off to play we all go, think we know what we should know Soon we find that girls and boys Play different games with different toys. Girls are quick and learn quite soon, whom it is that calls the tune The game is easy, old as time, Catch on quick and you’ll be fine. Easy things to fix are boys, with tinker, tailor, soldier toys Hammer and nails will fix ‘em quick And Chicken soup when they are sick But boys take everything apart, like choo-choo trains and little girls hearts And then the pieces just won’t fit, no matter how they fiddle with it! Little girls, little boys Different games, different toys And no matter how we look at it I wonder:  Were they made to fit? S.N.