Reading this blog will bring you good luck....

 We get a lot of spam mail.  I imagine most people do these days.  Thunderbird moves most of them to the Junk folder immediately, but one or two slip through.  The latest barrage are headlined I RECORDED YOU!, and proceed to tell me about the compromising images they have of me and threaten me with...  umm ...exposure.   They obviously think I have a far more exciting life than I actually do, and I sometimes wonder what would happen if I asked to see the footage of my imaginary self.  It does lead on to the question : what is the spamming success rate?  Do people actually feel guilty enough about their behaviour to pay a complete stranger untraceable currency to prevent loved ones from seeing it?  Won't you let me know if you have been scammed like this ?- you don't need to send the salacious details, just the broad strokes.  Call it research.

Not all scams are that obvious.  I remember someone coming up to me at a pay machine at Canal Walk parking.  She got chatting - told me how she remembered me from before, and I had helped her with some information.  This is all possible, even plausible, as I worked at an information public library, and that was my job.  She liked my new hairstyle (she said) and asked if I was still working "there."  I am generally polite, so I replied to her questioning, and although I have a good memory for faces, I didn't recognise her.  But I did interact with very many people over the years.    The request for money - notes rather than coins- came soon after, and I suddenly saw through her.  I declined her kind offer to relieve me of my cash, and told her she was very good at this scamming thing.  She smiled and thanked me, and moved on the the next person.

Recently I listened to a Derren Brown YouTube video (Ironing and watching is hazadous, but listening is just as good).  He is  described as a illusionist, mentalist and entertainer. These days he spends quite a lot of time exposing fake "truth" tellers, or scammers.  Whether it is people communicating with your dead loved ones, or someone telling you your future, he educates people about the cues and methods these people use, and the damage they can do.  But the programme I want to draw your attention to is about Luck.  In a social experiment (in 2011), he sent a reporter friend to the small Yorkshire town of Todmorden. She started a rumour about a lucky dog statue, which would bring good luck if you patted it.  It only took about a week for this made up idea to become a sort of folk lore owned by the community, with several locals trying it out.  And indeed, lucky things did start to happen in the town.  The sceptics were not swayed of course, and Derren decided to see if he could change their minds by creating winning opportunities for them to take up (a sure win scratch card, for example.  Or cash in the road.)  It's a fascinating programme, which shows that those who want to see good fortune, make themselves open to experiences that create so called luck.  As an example,  a well known comedian "needed car assistance" in the village, near the two pubs.  The owner of the first pub (a sceptic ) decided he was too busy to help.  The other landlady said she didn't know how to help but went to fetch a mechanic who did, and sorted the problem.  She invited them all to pub for a pint afterwards.  To say thank you, the comedian did a free gig that evening, and the  pub made a fortune.  The landlady described herself as lucky. After that, people came from all over to pat the dog, until after 6 weeks, Derren held a community meeting and explained all. If you have ironing to do, or a spare hour, you can google the whole experiment.

The point is, there are no lucky dogs.  Or lucky anythings for that matter.  We see and create opportunities that help us, or are open to experiences that create positive environments.  Somehow that gives me hope - we can all "be lucky."  We just have to pat our own heads and believe in ourselves rather than mysterious improbable scenarios of luck being presented to us. Those just might be scams.

While I have been writing this, over sixty I RECORDED YOU!messages have been dumped on the computer.  I am hoping our non response triggers the sending algorithm to stop.  

Junk can be very clogging.

I am going to try to be more aware of, and open to, the multitude of opportunities for happiness that are all around me, and cherish what I have. I am going to try to live purposefully, rather than waiting for things to happen by chance.

That should get me to the end of the year...

 

 

 

This is the lucky Todmorden dog........

 

Creating safe spaces

 We all need a place of refuge.  That space that allows us to drop all defences, all other people's expectations of us, all their judgements and Just Be.  If you have crawled high up Maslow's Need hierachy*, that space is probably internal, and thus accompanies you wherever you go.  Some of us haven't got that far in the self actualisation pyramid yet:  I am one of those who needs physical places to retreat to while the world is at war.

Parenting is (or should be) the process of creating that safe environment for a child to test boundaries, explore, fall, jump, fail, learn and get up and dust themselves off.  Home should be a safety net for freedom. (This is what I hope Andrew and I have at least partially achieved these past three decades.)

But I am sorry to tell you that I created an unsafe environment for one of our baby tortoises at the end of last year.  I meant well.  I wanted the two littlies to have a larger garden to explore with more rocks and plants to discover : a bigger playpen.  So I bricked off a substantially larger space than they were used to.  And then we went away for four days.  Nano must have decided to explore the rocks, and he, I assume, got stuck on the top of a ridge in the sweltering heat.  I found his paper thin shell - that was all that was left- on a Friday evening.  Poor Nano.  I had failed him through incompetence and ignorance and being blase.  Kind people have consoled me that this is nature - everything and everyone dies - and in the wild many baby tortoises don't make it to adulthood.  But I feel guilty, and sad, and the heaviness can drag me down. Pico - the remaining baby tortoise - now lives in a crate:  a safe, contained environment.  But it must be boring, so everyday, I walk the tortoise, so she can eat the fynbos, and build leg muscles. I watch her carefully, mindful of the fragility of life.

Globally, safe spaces are becoming harder and harder to find.  There are so many people who have been displaced by the greed and atrocities of a few. We watch with horror as people are killed, houses are bombed, threats of escalation of hostilities echo around the media.  And yet this never ends.  There has never been a time in history without conflict.  

Leadership is (or should be) the process of creating that safe environment for citizens to thrive socially, economically, and personally. World leaders are doing a dismal job.  Which leaves it up to you and me to create peace, internally and externally.  This is not an easy task in these volatile times, but it is a brave choice we can make.  Peace (and a safe environment) requires hard work, careful thought, tolerance, patience and the strength of self to be able to admit we all fail, all make mistakes, all have things that we need to apologise for. 

I was mulling over safe spaces yesterday and landed right back in my childhood home, in a cupboard I used to crawl into when I wanted to retreat from the world or have a bit of peace and quiet. 

I was never lonely in there though, because it was crowded with a kitten, a wolf, a frog, a young girl, an old man and various other friends.  I collected Pelham** puppets. 

It was a wonderful obsession.  I still have all of them, and when our kids were little, we hung them on our dining room wall for fun. 

 

  I have since found more spacious, brighter places with real people ( and no strings attached) to go to when I need a break from expectations, judgements and the craziness of the world.  I get grumpy and lose perspective without these islands of centering. 

Imagine if everyone in the world felt safe.  I imagine there would be far less conflict.

 

 

* Google, of course, can offer introductions if you haven't met Maslow yet.  A simplified version  of the theory can be found at https://www.thoughtco.com/maslows-hierarchy-of-needs-4582571

 

** Pelham puppets were first manufactured by Bob Pelham in 1947.  Every puppet is handmade and hand painted so each has an unique appearance.  The clothing was also cut by hand.  They are true pieces of art. (imho)

 

 

Beloved Nano - RIP

The bougainvillea in a pot

 It's over! As of a couple of hours ago, school days are a thing of the past for this family.  It feels like a major achievement to have weathered the school leaving exams in a pandemic with a child who has type 1 diabetes. (If you are wondering why that makes a difference, there is a whole blog about my experiences mothering diabetes: time4t1.blogspot.com).  Freedom beckons!  The future is a gold-paved path stretching out in front of Daughter!  Celebrations and relaxation are the order of the day!

Except, that is not really true.....

Celebrations are muted.  The future is a little uncertain.  Freedom wears a mask these days.  Covid round 4 for us in South Africa. (Please do not get me started on the UK's response to SA identifying the Omicron variant - my anger will ruin your day.) We  South Africans are resilient people, but we are also tired.

I find nature restores my soul, or at least stops me from wanting to kick a proverbial cat.  So the bougainvillea in the pot in the corner of my garden was an excellent focus point when stress levels were rising last week.  The burst of colour was just so lovely.  But being busy, I  enjoyed it from afar, admiring it every time I went to my car or looked out the upstairs window. 

And, I told myself, how marvellous that it was putting on such a gorgeous show after I had (to be honest) neglected it spectacularly these past few months.  So good that it could flourish without being nurtured.  Or even watered.

Bougainvilleas are strange plants.  They flower best when not watered much.  It seems counterintuitive, but I checked on a gardening site.   A few days ago, I finally made it to the corner of the garden.  And guess what?  The bougainvillea is not flourishing at all.  There are a few dried leaves hanging on for dear life, a touch of green on otherwise woody, droopy stems.  The flowers are beautiful, but the plant is putting all it's energy into the blooms, and the roots and branches are not thriving.  All of a sudden the blooms seemed more of a cry for help than a gift of gardening.  

It felt familiar.  Our outward appearances, smiley and dressed up, may not be so much a sign that we are flourishing, but rather a Look At Me in the corner - I could do with some support and soul -watering. We need to take care of ourselves during this exhausting pandemic.  We need to put our energy in maintaining good roots, supporting our selfs (not a typo!), and nurturing our relationships with the people who matter to us.  If we manage to bloom that will be a bonus, but it should not be at the expense of deep grounding and keeping strong.

You will be pleased to know I did water the bougainvillea, and all the other pot plants.  I am planning on taking some time off from being stressed too - I may as well listen to my own inner ramblings.  Be kind to yourself too.  It's been a long year.

 

 

Drive Throughs and take aways

 My head and my heart need a distraction from the turmoil and unrest that overwhelms us as a country at the moment. Sadness needs to be measured or we run a risk of being consumed by it.   So here is my diversion:

Drive throughs and take aways.

Do these things remind you of your childhood?  Who remembers the The Doll House?  For out-of-towners, and anyone who is younger than.....shall we say middle aged....., this was a drive in restaurant in Sea Point.  We would pile into the family car (there were 6 of us) and  pull up in a parking slot and wait for the uniformed waiter to take our order.  It was health food all the way:  Hot dogs, slap chips and milkshakes.  And now for the exciting part:  the goodies were placed on a tray which could be held on a partially open car window.  There was a special skill involved in getting the food before the Sea Gulls did.  They were particularly fond of the chips. So my memories include the cry of the birds, my Mom's exclamations about their cheekiness, the background murmur of the sea, and good family times.

 

The place closed down in 1983.  It had had a long run, having opened in 1938 (nice symmetry of numbers there).  It was knocked down and the site is now home to apartments that benefit from the most wonderful sea and mountain views.  

To close the loop of past and present, I am hoping to be invited to tea there towards the end of the year (hint hint, B!) as my good friend has just had her offer accepted, and she will be moving in to her new home built on the Doll House site.

By the time our kids were around, Drive ins were not really in vogue.  We did take the children once or twice, and that was enough! And then the concept disappeared for a while, or least was not something we pursued.  And drive through restaurants became common and Nothing Special, even bribing the kids with toys because Happy meals need plastic figurines to make them palatable. 

I experienced a new type of Drive Through last week:  we rolled up, parked in the spot indicated, a uniformed person asked what we needed, and then she shoved a long cotton swab up my left nostril. Covid testing has to be my least favourite of the drive through options available, although I am grateful at how quick and easy it was. It brought tears to my eyes as the swab went through passages I didn't know existed.  Negative result. I was very relieved.

It feels like Everyone is dealing with a lot at the moment. So I need to look for the kindnesses people show each other.  Every smile, every comment of concern, all acts of humanity -small gestures, big efforts-, build the bigger jigsaw picture that will get us through these overwhelming times.

 Bite sized kindness can change the world. That is my take away.

 

 

 

Interlinked hearts

 I was a gwarky teenager - long, nondescript hair, braces on my bunny teeth, and lacking confidence to enjoy being tall and thin. One Saturday morning I went with a friend who had considerably more outwardly confidence, self worth and make up,  to a local institutional home for adults with delayed development.  It was their annual fete, with the usual tea and scones, tombola stall, white elephant stall, and some oddly shaped knitted garments. We wandered around, spun the wheel of fortune, bought some second hand books and drank the tea.  I was feeling rather overshadowed by my confident friend, and did my usual shrinking act.  

Someone tapped me on the shoulder.  Not from behind - he boldly walked up to me and looking me in the eye,tapped my shoulder. I don't know how old he was - a young adult probably, definitely shorter than me, and had a huge open smile that a lot of the residents wore, especially the ones like him with Down Syndrome.

In his hand was clenched a tombola type prize of an interlaced hearts necklace.  He gave it to me, and asked me to put it on.  "You're beautiful" he said.  And then he turned and left.

I wonder if he had any idea of the enormity of the gift he had given me.

This gift accompanied me through some difficult teenage years.  It made me stand a little straighter, smile a lot more, and helped me begin to claim my own space in the world.  Kindness can change history, because  kindness recognises the humanity and connectivity we all share.  

 

 

 

 

This little old fashioned frame and saying hangs in my bedroom as a reminder.  It belonged to my Great Aunt many moons ago.