Suffer the little children........

Four young children died this week, walking in blistering heat to find food. Ages, 2, 6, 7 and 9 years old. I expect the young one was the first to go.
You know how it is, you're carrying a little too much weight but it's okay, the diet starts on Monday. By lunch time Monday you're really feeling peckish but you steadfastly wait until 1pm to have your Provitas and skimmed milk. By Thursday, you've had enough of this tough regime and slip back into the old ways.
Just imagine, that strict regime would feel like absolute luxury to someone who is starving. They had only a small bowl of porridge, the night before, and set off to search for their mother, granny or food.
How does it feel to starve to death? Thankfully I doubt anyone reading this will ever know.
We cried, we were outraged but will we do anything about it, probably not. Oh, we make our teddy bears, Christmas gift boxes and make certain that our old clothes go to those we know of who need them. We feel rather good about it. We recycle and care for our planet and yes, I think we're helping but, we're only scratching the surface.
A Hong Kong business man has set up a fund to help the impoverished people of the Northern Province, we can all contribute and hopefully it's going to benefit the ones it's intended for but, they're not the only ones. Drive the back roads of the Free State and be saddened by the extreme poverty there. Once the small towns had railways and busy roads keeping them going but "progress" robbed them and they are dying. It's not just here in South Africa, the extremes of lifestyle exist the world over, the old saying "The rich get richer and the poor get poorer" is achingly true but when will THEY do something about it?
But wait, someone threw a racial slur during a soccer match. By god, heads must roll! We'll all jump onto the bandwagon and condemn the man who dared utter those words. You see, posturing and blustering by politicians and celebs. means they don't actually have to do anything. They are seen to be caring but really, are they? Our fat cats seem more intent on buying trendy purple suits and building mansions than caring for the plight of their own.OMG the 12th  wife of the king of Swaziland has been kicked out! Twelve wives!!
I wonder what the food bill is per month in that household, a tad more than the folk in the Northern Cape will see in ten years, assuming they don't starve to death first!
Please say a prayer for those four children and millions like them who have starved to death because those who CAN do something are too preoccupied with status to notice their plight.

Hush, hush

My favourite T.V. programme is NCIS. They can take the sinister and flavour it with good humour. I presume it's true that all the American letters dislike and distrust one another. NCIS, CIA, FBI, OMG, LOL. Sibling rivalry. But, it's not just on T.V. My private life is affected by the same wierd need for secrecy.
We all need passwords, digitags, code numbers to allow us access to our own.
I receive an email and lo and behold, I can't open it because my adobe hut apparently has cracks and I have to upgrade to a better, more swanky one.
A statement arrives in my "in box" but I don't know what it's about because you see I have to download something that sounds like an Italian ice cream, vanilla with chocolate stripes - stracaccia I think. Or perhaps it's my brand of coffee that doesn't work, almost every day I'm offered a new and improved version. Can't they get it right first time?
I miss out on warbling frogs and squirrels on tightropes because my windows can't see the language they're presented in - some housewife I am.
Furthermore, when I sign up for something, the computer has the cheek to tell me my user name is taken.
Yikes! all the stuff that was delivered by the post office, safely is apparently at risk now on the big, wide web.
It doesn't end there, it seems people are becoming almost paranoid about their privacy, we're not all celebs you know. I've tried to make contact with a possible cousin, for the family tree, on FaceBook. clearly she thinks I'm a stalker, grooming her for sinister things. Yes, teach the kids about stranger danger but really, about 12 family members on FB with the same (unusual) surname would have to be a pretty elaborate plot. Get over yourself Connecticut.
So when the page I'm on has a message telling me that my browser isn't compatible with gobbleygook etc. I feel just like Jethro Gibbs when the geeks talk IT.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

On my way to work today I sang along to Deva Premal, the Gayatri Mantra, in Sanskrit, I know all the words and it leaves me with a great feeling of peace. But I have no English translation.
I love to watch the Russian or Japanese pop music fans, they sing along Karaoke style to songs whose words they don't understand but they enjoy them nonetheless. I believe the ABBA ladies knew no English and were taught the songs phonetically, gosh all that and the numerous key changes, they were indeed talented.
We learn so much in life by example.
For example, a child sees a parent throw the KFC wrapper out of the car window and, because mom and dad know EVERYTHING, the child assumes this is the thing to do. Likewise, dad gives mum a clip around the ear and we have a budding spouse beater growing up.
Kelly (number 5) lost a tooth and along with said tooth she put a thank-you note into her slipper for the tooth fairy. How polite! and one hopes, learned from her parents.
Raising kids without a handbook is a huge responsibility, look around and clearly some parents lost the plot but, many did a wonderful job and have given us good, honest, hardworking citizens.
Lead by example, not just for your children but for all of us. If a politician dips his hand too deep into the honey jar, how many will follow suit? Your favourite celeb sets up shelters for quake victims, please, go with the flow.
Let's try to be the example our world needs, like the young man in Pay It Forward, set the ball rolling and watch things go well.

New kid on the block

There's a new granny in the neighbourhood, I saw her out walking her (obligatory) small dog and appearing to be familiarising herself with the area.
How difficult it must be to reach a stage where you move into "the granny flat". Do you feel old? less in control? or is it a feeling of relief to be with loved ones.
My mother once pointed out that it's a sad time of life when you have to ride in the back of the car with the kids. No more front seat for you, you are no longer in control. My dad died 45 years ago today, it means that my mum is just a few months short of spending half of her life without him, her soul mate. She's been through it all, single mother, granny, great granny, granny flat and finally a lovely assisted living facility where she is very happy.
She talks about the ladies (for most of the residents are female) who have wonderful family visits and the ones who are forgotten and neglected. Not even the back seat of the car for them!
I wish our new kid all the very best that Edgemead has to offer, it may perhaps take a while for her to settle in but it's a very friendly area and there's nothing wrong with starting the road to old age here.

Growing up

I was stuck in a traffic jam this morning, most unusual because my route to work is against the traffic, I'm glad I don't have that every day. It got me to thinking (sorry Sandra) about my childhood, a sure sign that we're getting older.
I grew up in a small Welsh town and my parents didn't own a car, in fact as I recall there were only two cars in our street, the puddle jumper across the road and the black taxi owned by John James, a man with a most interesting vocabulary and a lovely black spaniel called Mickey James.
But I digress.
We walked to school and the shops and only took the train when visiting Manchester. Everyone walked or so it seemed unless they took the bus or train. The man from the Prudential rode a bicycle as did the District Nurse.
I don't recall any traffic jams.
Later we lived alongside the Chester Bypass and yet crossing the road was not a serious mission although when my dad bravely bought a silver Volkwagen (pronounced vokes wagon) they would sit in heavy traffic when visiting family in Rhyl or Colwyn Bay.
In the early days of our marriage, living in Pinelands, if I had a need to go to Claremont I would gather the brood, probably aged around 2 and 4, we would walk the half mile or so to the main road, catch a bus to Mowbray and then another to Claremont. It was nothing out of the ordinary but, the traffic was certainly getting heavier. (I wasn't, with all that walking).
Edgemead in the seventies had no bus service but we had splashed out and bought a bakkie (LDV) for Rowland and I had the use of the mean gold Cortina. I ran out of petrol three times, just couldn't learn!
 Our children either rode their bikes or walked to school, Fairbairn is about 5kms away. We all survived this healthy lifestyle. I remember a friend of Rowland's, he lived at the YMCA and walked everywhere, miles and miles.
Today, it's all about personal transport. From the parking boom on the roof of Canal Walk to my front door takes about 4 minutes by car, how could I waste the hour or so that it would take me on foot.
That's just it, we have to chase around far too much, our grandchildren have schedules that would make Barac Obama even greyer than he is now. It's rush to school, sport, dancing, music, art and for the grown-ups, rush to work, to the shops, to  home, rush around the house.
I don't believe there was any road rage when I was growing up, perhaps this generation needs a more relaxed pace, after all, the baby boomers created so much with, I think, far less stress.

The evolution of the trouser pocket

Once upon a time all a man needed when he went out was a hanky in his left pants pocket, his wallet - either in the right front or right rear pocket and, if he was fancy, a comb in his sock.His wallet contained only money and perhaps a condom as the devil hadn't yet invented credit cards.
What a happy fellow he was and, he was able to scoff at the ladies with their silly handbags that held everything except the kitchen sink.
Sadly most women still carry those small suitcases but, no matter the designer label, they can't compete with
THE MANBAG
What do they keep in there you may ask, as do I. Let me guess
His wallet, cellphone, Ipod, Ipad, Wii, Swiss army knife, Leatherman, lip ice (I'm clutching at straws here) and perhaps a change purse.
I see younger men walking through the shopping centres wearing backpacks. Are they perhaps due to embark on a safari? going to gym? or do they have to carry a laptop, just in case.
Well, I vote for the bumbag, it's reasonably compact and doesn't hurt your shoulder. It seems that we're becoming slaves to gadgets and even though the love of my life has a modest manbag which he rarely carries,  I guess he'd be happier with just the pants pocket.
And no, he doesn't have a comb in his sock.

Whatever

I played hookey today. I decided to join Rowland when he went out to do collections. It was really good, sitting in the car, driving around on a "work day". It's almost like meditation, you sit still and comfortable and allow your mind to wander, noticing things along the way.
Alongside the freeway, in a large grassy area is a pizza oven. It's been there for years, sitting, all alone, no advertising board near it. I often wonder, do the vagrants have Friday night pizza, is there some secret Italian Pizza Clan who come along at full moon and have pepperoni pizza?
whatever.
It's good to see all the renovations going on in and around Cape Town, old buildings being given a facelift, they must feel so good.
On the way out of town, walking along the shoulder of the highway towards us was a man pushing a wheel chair. The cushion still had that sitting indentation hhmmm. "So tell me Sir, where is your patient?"
Eish
We stopped off at Canal Walk, managed to find parking and even found time to glare at the 40 something woman and her two teenage daughters who had just parked the Merc in the "Elderly" parking bay. We don't even park there and we ARE elderly - or so they tell us.
Rushing through the centre I passed an underwear store - his and hers. In the window was a set for him, matching vest and briefs with a twirly design on the fabric. Seriously? Do you want your man to look like a 1920's wrestler?
whatever.
I've just been visited by friends, he is very ill but doing so well and she is ever strong and supportive. What a good way to end the working day and week, on a happy positive note.