Well, it's the latter half of 2007 already and it's nearing that time of year where around 90 000 people all attempt what many have deemed the impossible: Writing a novel in a month. 50 000 words in 30 days. However, as many thousands have shown over the past eight (and soon to be nine) years, is that is it possible. In fact, it's possible to do it several times over. Indeed, there are some left over from the original twenty-something would-be authors who first attempted this who have crossed the 50k finishing line every year.
I, however, have only finished once. Last year. I just crossed the mark barely an hour before the deadline (23:59:59, 30 November). The previous year I barely scraped 2000 words, so the elation I felt as I submitted my work for a final word count, terrible as it was, full of not-so-kosher word count tricks (like using characters' full names AND titles EVERY time you write their name), was incredible: I still finished. And for me, that was the main thing. I had actually managed to finish a story. Barring an autobiography on my cat, written at age 12, and a Harry Potter fanfic, written at age 16), I had NEVER finished a story that was more than one or two chapters.
And since then, it has taken a hold of me. Since the end of NaNoWrimo 2006, I have been obsessed. They say NaNo can eat your soul. It didn't just EAT mine, it consumed it, consumed my life. Since roughly the beginning of this year, I have been longing for November, so I can once again embark on that journey.
I have a main character. She has an appearance and a personality, and a history and a family (half of whom accompany her on her mission to save the world). I have a love interest, and a king, and a war going on, and politics and scandal and magic and prejudice... I even have a map!
I can't start writing until midnight on the first of November, but I'm certainly making the most of my time until then. I'll have the whole thing mapped out, and I'm definitely not going to end up in the same pickle I was in last year (my villain died, the story ended and I still had 15 000 words to go. I was freaking out, needless to say, especially since I needed to make up said 15k in as many hours.
It's do-able. I proved it. But FUCK I was tired afterwards.
So. NaNo ate my soul and took over my life... and I wouldn't have it any other way.
My World
The street on which I live.
Sunday, 08 July 2007
Friday, 29 June 2007
Tales of a South African Pub
The Buck & Hog is a pub in Emmarentia, a suburb in Johannesburg. Affectionately known as the Buck, it's a pub like any other might find anywhere in South Africa, maybe in the world. But for the patrons, and even those who don't go there much, or have only been there once or twice, the Buck is more than that. It's a home away from home, a place to wind down, or wind up, a place to rant about your troubles, or give advice to someone else, a place to do the crossword, or compete with others with the general knowledge section of the newspaper. It's a warm, comfortable place.
The Buck is co-owned by my sister, Bronwen, but it wasn't always so. For years before Bron even started working there, and for a time afterwards, it was owned by Charles, a butcher by trade (from what I've been able to glean). Charles is an interesting character. A large man, over six feet tall, with his very own tankard that only he, as former Master of the Buck, gets to drink out of. He's known for disliking loud or live music and giving some pretty good hugs. He also seems to have a constant phobia of stepping on my nephew Xavier.
But back to Bronwen. Obviously, I've known her my whole life (she being my older sister and all). She's business-minded, capable, able to multitask in an almost super-human way. She gets things done, and above all, she's loveable. She's a take-no-shit-I-bite-back type of person. She's tiny, only about 5'2" (and she's never forgiven me for growing taller than her), but she exudes a strength that I can only dream of having one day. She juggles handling the pub and raising her 13-month-old son, Xavier.
The other co-owner of the Buck, the financial backer, is PC. A man of British descent, he says little (at least to me), and seems a very quiet and shy man. But those that know him seem to love him. He's tall, thin, with grey hair, though he can't be much older than his 50's. He seems to love the Buck, he gets so excited when he works. He's a good person.
The Buck wouldn't be able to function with just Bronwen at the helm (since I don't think PC has the abilities of a barman), or at least, she wouldn't be able to function if she had to do it herself. So, there are those that work the bar, and the restaurant. Linda, Brian, Michelle, Yvonne, Wessel, Percent and David.
Linda is amazing. She's a manicurist by trade and does some pretty amazing shit with people's nails. As soon as I get over my nail-biting habit, I plan on going to her! She's been married twice, and her youngest lives with her ex-husband. Her older daughter, Christa (15) lives with her and her new husband, Graham. She's another take-no-shit type of person, and capable of whipping everyone into line. She's sweet, funny and caring, and she's amazing with Xavier, whom she often babysits.
Brian is an interesting guy. From Zimbabwe originally, he's now studying journalism through UNISA and paying his way with his job at the Buck, along with several other jobs, while taking care of his wife and two-year-old daughter, Wanayi, who is absolutely gorgeous. I gave Brian a crash course in computers when he first started his degree. He's a nice, loyal guy, even if he's sometimes a little bit unreliable.
Michelle recently started working there. A strangely timid lady, originally from the UK, she's had some problems in her life, but is slowly working through them. She's funny, and she strikes me as a person who wants to be accepted by those she's around. She's kind, and has a penchant for wearing jerseys with teddy-bears on them. She has a little daughter of nine, who lives in Durban with Michelle's mother.
Yvonne, I don't know much about. She's a quiet girl who seems to be about my age, but very capable and sweet. I haven't spoken to her much, but she works hard, and she's almost always smiling.
Percent and David are the chefs of the Buck and they cook DAMN nice food. I know little about them too, except that they work hard, and will willingly cart pizza up five flights of stairs for me when I'm babysitting Xav in the flat upstairs. They're friendly, grat guys. Wessel... all I know is that he's Linda's brother, but he's a very nice guy who makes one hell of a difference to the distribution of the work load on a busy weekend.
The Buck is co-owned by my sister, Bronwen, but it wasn't always so. For years before Bron even started working there, and for a time afterwards, it was owned by Charles, a butcher by trade (from what I've been able to glean). Charles is an interesting character. A large man, over six feet tall, with his very own tankard that only he, as former Master of the Buck, gets to drink out of. He's known for disliking loud or live music and giving some pretty good hugs. He also seems to have a constant phobia of stepping on my nephew Xavier.
But back to Bronwen. Obviously, I've known her my whole life (she being my older sister and all). She's business-minded, capable, able to multitask in an almost super-human way. She gets things done, and above all, she's loveable. She's a take-no-shit-I-bite-back type of person. She's tiny, only about 5'2" (and she's never forgiven me for growing taller than her), but she exudes a strength that I can only dream of having one day. She juggles handling the pub and raising her 13-month-old son, Xavier.
The other co-owner of the Buck, the financial backer, is PC. A man of British descent, he says little (at least to me), and seems a very quiet and shy man. But those that know him seem to love him. He's tall, thin, with grey hair, though he can't be much older than his 50's. He seems to love the Buck, he gets so excited when he works. He's a good person.
The Buck wouldn't be able to function with just Bronwen at the helm (since I don't think PC has the abilities of a barman), or at least, she wouldn't be able to function if she had to do it herself. So, there are those that work the bar, and the restaurant. Linda, Brian, Michelle, Yvonne, Wessel, Percent and David.
Linda is amazing. She's a manicurist by trade and does some pretty amazing shit with people's nails. As soon as I get over my nail-biting habit, I plan on going to her! She's been married twice, and her youngest lives with her ex-husband. Her older daughter, Christa (15) lives with her and her new husband, Graham. She's another take-no-shit type of person, and capable of whipping everyone into line. She's sweet, funny and caring, and she's amazing with Xavier, whom she often babysits.
Brian is an interesting guy. From Zimbabwe originally, he's now studying journalism through UNISA and paying his way with his job at the Buck, along with several other jobs, while taking care of his wife and two-year-old daughter, Wanayi, who is absolutely gorgeous. I gave Brian a crash course in computers when he first started his degree. He's a nice, loyal guy, even if he's sometimes a little bit unreliable.
Michelle recently started working there. A strangely timid lady, originally from the UK, she's had some problems in her life, but is slowly working through them. She's funny, and she strikes me as a person who wants to be accepted by those she's around. She's kind, and has a penchant for wearing jerseys with teddy-bears on them. She has a little daughter of nine, who lives in Durban with Michelle's mother.
Yvonne, I don't know much about. She's a quiet girl who seems to be about my age, but very capable and sweet. I haven't spoken to her much, but she works hard, and she's almost always smiling.
Percent and David are the chefs of the Buck and they cook DAMN nice food. I know little about them too, except that they work hard, and will willingly cart pizza up five flights of stairs for me when I'm babysitting Xav in the flat upstairs. They're friendly, grat guys. Wessel... all I know is that he's Linda's brother, but he's a very nice guy who makes one hell of a difference to the distribution of the work load on a busy weekend.
And then you get the regulars. Aside from my dad and me, there's a multitude of strange and loveable characters who frequent this apparently most desired of watering holes. Two noteables are, of course, Brett, Bronwen's fiance and Xavier's dad, and Graham, Linda's husband. Brett is a jack of all trades and master of most of them. Builder, plumber, electritian, you name it, he can fix it. He adores Bron, and he's a great dad. Xavier is his second child. About 15 years ago his wife and 18-month-old daughter were killed in a car accident, and Brett only really got over it shortly before Xav was born. Brett's a strong guy, with a strange sort of vulnerability about him. I love him dearly, and so does my family.
Graham... he's interesting. He worked in Media for a while, and I'm not sure what he does now, but he's extremely bright. We have the same taste in books and have a sort of trade thing going. I like him a lot, I've got a lot of time for him. He's very good with Christa, his step-daughter, too, and treats her like his own. They're very alike. Graham is also what I like to call Bronwen's arch-nemesis. Those two are constantly chirping one another shit. It's really amusing.
There's also Uncle Roy, who suffers from emphisema and has to be on oxygen for most of the day, except for his hour when he gets to come down the Buck, like clockwork, and sit and have his two cigarrettes and his drinks. He's interesting to talk to, and was once an engineer.
Then there's Angie, also known as Godbat (being Xavier's godmother). She's kind, and sweet, and well-meaning, even if she can get a bit much at times. Everyone loves her and cares about her, for all her flightiness. If you're in trouble, or upset, you can always count on Angie for some advice, or just a hug and shoulder to cry on. She's a great person, and so amazingly full of love for the world, for all her issues and problems. I love her dearly.
Richard (with guitar) and Angie (with Xavier)And that leads me to the next godparent, Richard. Like Angie, I've known him for years. He provides the live music some evenings, and on Saturdays. He loves Xavier, and is a wonderful guy to know. He's constantly trying to get me to do the cryptic crossword with him, even though I'm completely hopeless at it. He has the patience to sit with me through every clue until I get it.
That's not everyone from the Buck, not by a long shot. But they're the some of the ones I know best. To go into everyone would make this entry about twice as long!
In ay case, the Buck & Hog is a place very near and dear to my heart, and I love it there, even though I don't touch alcohol.
The Buck & Hog. From left to right: A patron, Brett, Bronwen, Xavier, I Forget His Name, and a Blurry Yvonne.
So, if you're ever in the area, this is one place to go visit. ^_^
Monday, 04 June 2007
More blogthings! *is addict*
| You Passed 8th Grade Science |
 |
http://www.blogthings.com/couldyoupasseighthgradesciencequiz/">Could You Pass 8th Grade Science?
Whee, yay.
| You Should Travel to Japan |
 |
http://www.blogthings.com/whatasiancountryshouldyouvisitquiz/">What Asian Country Should You Visit?
Ha ha ha ha!!! *Snort* Yeah, those that know me will find this funny...
| You Are 30% Extrovert, 70% Introvert |
 |
http://www.blogthings.com/areyouanextrovertorintrovertquiz/">Are You An Extrovert or An Introvert?
Sort of like me...
| You Have Fantastic Karma |
 |
Yay.
| Your EQ is 127 |
 |
| You Belong in New Zealand |
 |
http://www.blogthings.com/whatenglishspeakingcountryareyouquiz/">What English Speaking Country Are You?
Um... right...?
| Your Eyes Should Be Brown |
 What's hidden behind your eyes: A tender heart |
http://www.blogthings.com/whatcolorshouldyoureyesbequiz/">What Color Should Your Eyes Be?
Wow, so my genetics got it right!
| Your Personality Is |
You are a passionate, caring, and unique person.You are good at expressing yourself and sharing your ideals. You are the most compassionate of all types and connect with others easily.Your heart tends to rule you. You can't make decisions without considering feelings. You seek out other empathetic people to befriend.Truth and authenticity matters in your friendships. In love, you give everything you have to relationships. You fall in love easily. At work, you crave personal expression and meaning in your career. With others, you communicate well. You can spend all night talking with someone. As far as your looks go, you've likely taken the time to develop your own personal style. On weekends, you like to be with others. Charity work is also a favorite pastime of yours. |
http://www.blogthings.com/threequestionpersonalitytest/">The Three Question Personality Test
| You May Be a Bit Dependent... |
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http://www.blogthings.com/whatpersonalitydisorderareyouquiz/">What Personality Disorder Are You?
Hee...
| Your Emoticon is Sad |
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http://www.blogthings.com/whatemoticonbestrepresentsyourightnowquiz/">What Emoticon Best Represents You Right Now?
*snort*
| Your Travel Personality Is: The Adventurer |
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| You Are a Boston Terrier Puppy |
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http://www.blogthings.com/whatbreedofpuppyareyouquiz/">What Breed of Puppy Are You?
o.O;;;
| You Were a Coyote |
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http://www.blogthings.com/whatanimalwereyouinapastlifequiz/">What Animal Were You In a Past Life?
| You Are Likely an Only Child |
 In friendship, you are emotional and sympathetic.Your ideal careers are: radio announcer, finance, teaching, ministry, and management.You will leave your mark on the world with organizational leadership, maybe as the author of self-help books. |
http://www.blogthings.com/birthorderpredictorquiz/">The Birth Order Predictor
Interesting. I'm not, but there's a 13-year gap between my sister and me.
Ok, I really think that's enough for now. Damn things are addictive!
Randomness. Look! Quizzes!
| You Are 56% Happy |
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How Happy Are You?
| You Are Somewhat Mature |
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Are You Immature?
| Your True Birth Month Is June |
 |
.... interesting...
| You Are 67% Pure |
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The 100 Question Purity Test
Mwahahaha. >>
| You Are 0% Homophobic |
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Are You Homophobic?
And add to that: I'm gay! Mwahahahaha! Ha!
| You Are: 60% Dog, 40% Cat |
 |
Are You More Cat or Dog?
Woof!
| You Are Gay |
 |
Ha ha ha ha. Ha. Ha. *snort*
| You Are 84% Intuitive |
 |
How Intuitive Are You?
Yay!
OK, enough for now... for this post at least... I'll probably upload MOAR! :D Hah hah hah!
Tuesday, 22 May 2007
Cold. Like... seriously...
It's cold. Really, really cold. Winter has struck with a vengence, very suddenly. We've had a long, prolonged autumn. It's been wonderful. The leaves changed colours slowly, given time with the warm weather to display the most beautiful, wonderful hues. It's been warm. T-shirt weather. I've been walking around barefoot (which I do anyway... but at least without my legs seizing up from the cold), wearing short-sleaves with a jacket that I'd take off halfway through the day. The temperatures haven't dropped below 25 degrees (I'm talking Celcius, mind you).
But then, on Monday, the cold fronts hit. Fronts. Plural. The entire country has gone from warm and balmy and the collective ponderances that we were going to have an extremely warm winter, a deadly hot summer, and global warming this and that and blah blah blah.
But then, one Monday, the cold fronts hit.
The temperatures plummeted. From 25 degrees over the weekend to 12 degrees on Monday. Twelve! We were walking around, shivering our rear ends off, losing feeling in our earlobes and nose hairs. Three layers of sweaters or jerseys or jackets were not enough. Our legs froze through our jeans.
All in all, the country was locked in the new collective ponderance of "Oh my GOD".
All watched the weather on Monday night, last night, hoping for a reprieve from the bitter cold (because it was causing havoc with the washing machines - all those layers!). But it was not to be. Simon the weatherman on SABC 3 predicted temperatures a maximum of 9 degrees in Johannesburg. This morning, as I walked into varsity, I saw the puddles in the grass with a layer of ice more than a centimeter thick on the surface, icicles hanging from the trees in pretty sparkly splendour, and I thought to myself, "No FUCKING way..."
Because it was cold. Seriously cold.
And people are all going on about "Coldest winter ever" and "I've never seen anything like this" and "Not in twenty years of living here...." which happens EVERY year, but this time even my DAD is saying it (which never happens, so I KNOW it's an interesting year!)
Because it's all over the country. Good old Joburg is MILD in comparison. There's snow as far as Plettinburg Bay and close to Durban, which can always be counted on to be the country's single warm spot.
Not any more. Here's a photo a friend of a friend took, from Plett:
But then, on Monday, the cold fronts hit. Fronts. Plural. The entire country has gone from warm and balmy and the collective ponderances that we were going to have an extremely warm winter, a deadly hot summer, and global warming this and that and blah blah blah.
But then, one Monday, the cold fronts hit.
The temperatures plummeted. From 25 degrees over the weekend to 12 degrees on Monday. Twelve! We were walking around, shivering our rear ends off, losing feeling in our earlobes and nose hairs. Three layers of sweaters or jerseys or jackets were not enough. Our legs froze through our jeans.
All in all, the country was locked in the new collective ponderance of "Oh my GOD".
All watched the weather on Monday night, last night, hoping for a reprieve from the bitter cold (because it was causing havoc with the washing machines - all those layers!). But it was not to be. Simon the weatherman on SABC 3 predicted temperatures a maximum of 9 degrees in Johannesburg. This morning, as I walked into varsity, I saw the puddles in the grass with a layer of ice more than a centimeter thick on the surface, icicles hanging from the trees in pretty sparkly splendour, and I thought to myself, "No FUCKING way..."
Because it was cold. Seriously cold.
And people are all going on about "Coldest winter ever" and "I've never seen anything like this" and "Not in twenty years of living here...." which happens EVERY year, but this time even my DAD is saying it (which never happens, so I KNOW it's an interesting year!)
Because it's all over the country. Good old Joburg is MILD in comparison. There's snow as far as Plettinburg Bay and close to Durban, which can always be counted on to be the country's single warm spot.
Not any more. Here's a photo a friend of a friend took, from Plett:
Snow! In Plett!
But anyway, like I've said, it's cold. I'm tired. I want my nice warm electric blanket and duvet and knitted blanket and my dog and cat that snuggle up with me.
And a nice cup of hot chocolate.
Tuesday, 01 May 2007
Why I Don't Drink:
My mother has atrophy of the cerebellum. The cerebellum is a small part of the brain, situated at the back of the head, which controls balance, equilibrium, co-ordination, and I think some parts of the brain that control speach and rationality are affected as well. Mom struggles to walk, her memory is affected and a lot of the time her rationality is akin to a small child's.
It's hard for all of us, especially for Dad and me. I think Bron doesn't feel as hopeless because she lives in her own place with Brett and the baby, but for Dad and me, we see it every day, we live with it constantly. It's hard. I can't really talk to her because she doesn't really "get" what I tell her... I have to take care of her, more than the other way round, and it's been that way for a long time, even before she was diagnosed when I was 16. Even when Dad was sick when I was 14, I was already taking on adult responsibilities, trying to keep my life together.
What makes things even harder is that Mom used to be an actress, she was amazing and beautiful on stage, and later she became one of the best known radio and voice actresses in South Africa. She had amazing tallents, she used to read to me, and it was like watching a play, there were different voices for every single one of the characters. Thanks to her stories like Narnia, the Secret Garden and Railway Children became alive to me.
But things are different now. She's been getting steadily worse over the last eleven years, noticably.
By now, anyone reading this may be wondering how something like this happens. The answer is very simple: Mom is an alcoholic. She drank very heavily for a great many years. She doesn't any more, she's been sober in AA for 16 years, but even then the damage was done.
My uncle, Mom's brother, Christie, has wet brain, so I guess my cousins are worse off. Their dad doesn't even know who they are. Also caused by long years of alcohol abuse.
And I almost lost my own dad, back when I was 14, to cirhosis of the liver, also caused by many long years of drinking. He's been sober for 6 years though, thankfully with no lasting effects.
But this is why I choose not to drink alcohol. I don't want to, one day, put my children through what my sister and I, and my cousins, have been through. I don't want to become completely reliant on my family to get around, cooped up at home constantly, sinking further into depression. I don't want to slowly lose my mind. I don't want to die like that.
It's hard for all of us, especially for Dad and me. I think Bron doesn't feel as hopeless because she lives in her own place with Brett and the baby, but for Dad and me, we see it every day, we live with it constantly. It's hard. I can't really talk to her because she doesn't really "get" what I tell her... I have to take care of her, more than the other way round, and it's been that way for a long time, even before she was diagnosed when I was 16. Even when Dad was sick when I was 14, I was already taking on adult responsibilities, trying to keep my life together.
What makes things even harder is that Mom used to be an actress, she was amazing and beautiful on stage, and later she became one of the best known radio and voice actresses in South Africa. She had amazing tallents, she used to read to me, and it was like watching a play, there were different voices for every single one of the characters. Thanks to her stories like Narnia, the Secret Garden and Railway Children became alive to me.
But things are different now. She's been getting steadily worse over the last eleven years, noticably.
By now, anyone reading this may be wondering how something like this happens. The answer is very simple: Mom is an alcoholic. She drank very heavily for a great many years. She doesn't any more, she's been sober in AA for 16 years, but even then the damage was done.
My uncle, Mom's brother, Christie, has wet brain, so I guess my cousins are worse off. Their dad doesn't even know who they are. Also caused by long years of alcohol abuse.
And I almost lost my own dad, back when I was 14, to cirhosis of the liver, also caused by many long years of drinking. He's been sober for 6 years though, thankfully with no lasting effects.
But this is why I choose not to drink alcohol. I don't want to, one day, put my children through what my sister and I, and my cousins, have been through. I don't want to become completely reliant on my family to get around, cooped up at home constantly, sinking further into depression. I don't want to slowly lose my mind. I don't want to die like that.
Sunday, 29 April 2007
What is Normality?
| You Are 70% Normal |
 |
Well I must say that's rather surprising. I would have guessed that I, the lesbian Pagan anime-obsessed pseudo-Japanese speaking fangirl would have scored far lower, though perhaps more than my good friend Chris on 5%. Somehow, it's good to know, and yet it's slightly depressing.
Oh well.
Saturday, 28 April 2007
"I'm gonna beat you ugly! -er..." - Tracy
It's been a long time since last posted, possibly because I simply haven't had much to say about life. But over the past few weeks I've accumulated enough thoughts to actually fill an entry, so as I sit here in my family's living room, half-heartedly watching the Stormers vs the Reds in the rugby Super 14, I feel I might as well begin to write them down.
It was Freedom Day yesterday, comemorating thirteen years since Suouth Africa had its first democratic elections. Every year there're always events happing country-wide, usually to do with racial freedom. I'd never really paid much attention to it, for me it's always been a day when I didn't have class, so it's always cool. But yesterday I figured out that I actually do have something to be thankful for.
I'm a Pagan. My basis is in Wicca, but I take from so many other belief systems that it's hard to classify me under any specific one. I've always been able to practice my beliefs, to stand up and say, "I'm a witch," without any fear of retribution. Buty of course, it hasn't always been this way. Before democracy, there were anti-witchcraft laws in this country, laws both condemning and prohibiting even mention of its practices. After the first elections and the adoption of a new constitution which allowed for complete religious freedom, Pagans everywhere were able to completely step out from the broom closet.
So yesterday, Spiral, who runs the FireFly news letter and Pagan networking group, as well as the website www.lizardstead.co.za, hosted the fourth annual Pagan Freedom Day at Delta Park environmental centre. There were hundreds of us, looking at the various stalls, where you could buy anythjing from swords, to robes, to pentacles, to bumper stickers, visiting fortune tellers (everything from tarot-readers, to psychics, and even a Sangoma). There were workshops on working magic and talks on South African Paganism and what it means to be a witch. Afterwards, several of us held and informal healing circle where, after which everything looked blue for about ten minutes. It was wonderful, a whole bunch of us just sitting around and being with one another, just being ourselves and learning new ways of doing things in a way that would have been impossible twenty years ago.
It was a truly wonderful day. It was nice to realise that even I have something to be thankful for on that day.
And it got me thinking, wondering, what else I had to clebrate, and it led me to another inportant part of my life - my sexuality, my being a lesbian. Until 1994, it was illegal to be gay. At least, for men it was. No one really thought about lesbians, I guess. But then came the new constitution, the first in the world to specifically condemn descrimination on the grounds of sexuality. This meant that people were now free to love whoever they wanted without fear of retribution from the law (although there were many cases wherethe conservative were against us - though they were now the ones who could be prosecuted!). Over the course of the last few years, several laws have been passed allowing more and more privaledges to homosexuals, the latest of which being the right to marry. This makes South Africa the first country in Africa and the fifth in the world to pass this law.
And none of this would have been possible without democracy, without the scarifices made during apartheid. So I have many things to be thankful for.
And even though there are still thousands of racists, homophobes and people who hate Pagans and call us satanists for wearing our pentacles, they are becoming a dying breed slowly but surely. Maybe in the next thirteen years, there will be true freedom.
P.S. It looks like the Stormers are going to beat the Reds. YAY. At least one South African team is doing well, people don't even want to think about the SA vs Australia cricket match in the world cup semis.
It was Freedom Day yesterday, comemorating thirteen years since Suouth Africa had its first democratic elections. Every year there're always events happing country-wide, usually to do with racial freedom. I'd never really paid much attention to it, for me it's always been a day when I didn't have class, so it's always cool. But yesterday I figured out that I actually do have something to be thankful for.
I'm a Pagan. My basis is in Wicca, but I take from so many other belief systems that it's hard to classify me under any specific one. I've always been able to practice my beliefs, to stand up and say, "I'm a witch," without any fear of retribution. Buty of course, it hasn't always been this way. Before democracy, there were anti-witchcraft laws in this country, laws both condemning and prohibiting even mention of its practices. After the first elections and the adoption of a new constitution which allowed for complete religious freedom, Pagans everywhere were able to completely step out from the broom closet.
So yesterday, Spiral, who runs the FireFly news letter and Pagan networking group, as well as the website www.lizardstead.co.za, hosted the fourth annual Pagan Freedom Day at Delta Park environmental centre. There were hundreds of us, looking at the various stalls, where you could buy anythjing from swords, to robes, to pentacles, to bumper stickers, visiting fortune tellers (everything from tarot-readers, to psychics, and even a Sangoma). There were workshops on working magic and talks on South African Paganism and what it means to be a witch. Afterwards, several of us held and informal healing circle where, after which everything looked blue for about ten minutes. It was wonderful, a whole bunch of us just sitting around and being with one another, just being ourselves and learning new ways of doing things in a way that would have been impossible twenty years ago.
It was a truly wonderful day. It was nice to realise that even I have something to be thankful for on that day.
And it got me thinking, wondering, what else I had to clebrate, and it led me to another inportant part of my life - my sexuality, my being a lesbian. Until 1994, it was illegal to be gay. At least, for men it was. No one really thought about lesbians, I guess. But then came the new constitution, the first in the world to specifically condemn descrimination on the grounds of sexuality. This meant that people were now free to love whoever they wanted without fear of retribution from the law (although there were many cases wherethe conservative were against us - though they were now the ones who could be prosecuted!). Over the course of the last few years, several laws have been passed allowing more and more privaledges to homosexuals, the latest of which being the right to marry. This makes South Africa the first country in Africa and the fifth in the world to pass this law.
And none of this would have been possible without democracy, without the scarifices made during apartheid. So I have many things to be thankful for.
And even though there are still thousands of racists, homophobes and people who hate Pagans and call us satanists for wearing our pentacles, they are becoming a dying breed slowly but surely. Maybe in the next thirteen years, there will be true freedom.
P.S. It looks like the Stormers are going to beat the Reds. YAY. At least one South African team is doing well, people don't even want to think about the SA vs Australia cricket match in the world cup semis.
Wednesday, 04 April 2007
Rants of a Misused Neighbour
Some people are so inconsiderate. We all see them. People who cut in front of you in traffic, those who graffiti other people's walls and gates, some who steal the brass fixtures off of gravestones (I kid you not, I've seen it with my own eyes). But even then, it's not like you know these people, right? There's not much you can do except swear profusely, wish great ill on them, and move on with your life.
It's different when you live in the same space.
I live in a complex. Four double-story flats, all ajoined, but each with its own garden, separated by walls or fences. My family (in number 1) has been here the longest (five years tomorrow). Vern and Lenny, and their kids, Kerree and Miquel, at number 2 will have been here five years in August. The Walkers at number 3 have been there about... two and a half/three years, and Avesh, Jessica and baby Kiara at number 4 have been here for two and a bit. We all know each other, we get on well.
Except for the Walkers at number 3.
The Walkers at number 3 have two dogs. That, in itself, is not a problem. We love dogs. We have a dog, too. And two cats.
The problem begins shortly after the Walkers at number 3 moved in. Back then, they only had one dog, Goldie. He's beautiful, with a lovely nature. He's a chow-chow cross rough collie, so you know he's gorgeous. The problem is, Goldie barked. A lot. At three in the morning. This went on for about a year, before my dad threatened to get a court interdict to force them to shut their dog up, or at least let him sleep inside like ours does.
So they got a new dog, JJ, a daschhund. Now that he's not lonely at night, Goldie no longer barks.
JJ does.
But not often at night.
So, for a while, things settled down. Goldie was quiet at night, we were happy.
But the Walkers at number 3 are what're known as Inconsiderate People (as mentioned above). The Walkers at Number 3 don't walk their dogs. We have small yards. Ours is a bit bigger than theirs, for the simple fact that we don't have a garden overchoked by weeds as well as a giant shed taking up half the area.
Anyone who knows dogs, will know that working dogs such as collies, chow-chows, german shepherds and the like need lots of training and lots of walks for excercise.
Goldie doesn't get that.
So Goldie jumps over the fence into number 2's garden, which has at least twice as much space as number 3's and therefore must be far more appealing to a dog of Goldie's stature.
I've said before, Goldie is a big dog, and quite ferocious-looking. He's sweet natured though (And I only know this because I'm the one who usually has to get him back over the fence, because Vern and the kids are too scared of him). But still, this results in number 2's garden being destroyed, covered in dog shit and leaving the kids unable to play in their own yard for fear of Goldie coming over the fence.
And despite letters, despite pleas, despite chats to Brian, the Walkers' son who is my age and seems to have a better head on his shoulders than his parents, the Walkers at number 3, being Inconsiderate People (as mentioned above), refuse to do anything about it.
What do you do in a situation like that? We're dealing with people who are neglecting their dog, not picking up after him (you can smell the shit from their yard from ours), and letting him jump over a fence which they refuse to fix. What do you do? Vern said on Sunday that if that dog ever got over again, she would call the SPCA.
He jumped the fence again this morning. So she's carrying through with her threat. This means Goldie will very likely get taken from them, and because no one wants to adopt a big, adult dog, will probably be put down in the next few months.
A big, beautiful, lovely-natured dog, perfectly healthy.
Because people don't care.
Because people are so Damn Inconsiderate.
*End rant.*
It's different when you live in the same space.
I live in a complex. Four double-story flats, all ajoined, but each with its own garden, separated by walls or fences. My family (in number 1) has been here the longest (five years tomorrow). Vern and Lenny, and their kids, Kerree and Miquel, at number 2 will have been here five years in August. The Walkers at number 3 have been there about... two and a half/three years, and Avesh, Jessica and baby Kiara at number 4 have been here for two and a bit. We all know each other, we get on well.
Except for the Walkers at number 3.
The Walkers at number 3 have two dogs. That, in itself, is not a problem. We love dogs. We have a dog, too. And two cats.
The problem begins shortly after the Walkers at number 3 moved in. Back then, they only had one dog, Goldie. He's beautiful, with a lovely nature. He's a chow-chow cross rough collie, so you know he's gorgeous. The problem is, Goldie barked. A lot. At three in the morning. This went on for about a year, before my dad threatened to get a court interdict to force them to shut their dog up, or at least let him sleep inside like ours does.
So they got a new dog, JJ, a daschhund. Now that he's not lonely at night, Goldie no longer barks.
JJ does.
But not often at night.
So, for a while, things settled down. Goldie was quiet at night, we were happy.
But the Walkers at number 3 are what're known as Inconsiderate People (as mentioned above). The Walkers at Number 3 don't walk their dogs. We have small yards. Ours is a bit bigger than theirs, for the simple fact that we don't have a garden overchoked by weeds as well as a giant shed taking up half the area.
Anyone who knows dogs, will know that working dogs such as collies, chow-chows, german shepherds and the like need lots of training and lots of walks for excercise.
Goldie doesn't get that.
So Goldie jumps over the fence into number 2's garden, which has at least twice as much space as number 3's and therefore must be far more appealing to a dog of Goldie's stature.
I've said before, Goldie is a big dog, and quite ferocious-looking. He's sweet natured though (And I only know this because I'm the one who usually has to get him back over the fence, because Vern and the kids are too scared of him). But still, this results in number 2's garden being destroyed, covered in dog shit and leaving the kids unable to play in their own yard for fear of Goldie coming over the fence.
And despite letters, despite pleas, despite chats to Brian, the Walkers' son who is my age and seems to have a better head on his shoulders than his parents, the Walkers at number 3, being Inconsiderate People (as mentioned above), refuse to do anything about it.
What do you do in a situation like that? We're dealing with people who are neglecting their dog, not picking up after him (you can smell the shit from their yard from ours), and letting him jump over a fence which they refuse to fix. What do you do? Vern said on Sunday that if that dog ever got over again, she would call the SPCA.
He jumped the fence again this morning. So she's carrying through with her threat. This means Goldie will very likely get taken from them, and because no one wants to adopt a big, adult dog, will probably be put down in the next few months.
A big, beautiful, lovely-natured dog, perfectly healthy.
Because people don't care.
Because people are so Damn Inconsiderate.
*End rant.*
Sunday, 01 April 2007
To see the world through a child's eyes...
Children are amazing. They really are. Have you ever just sat and watched a child? Especially one who’s extremely young, about a year or less even? They way everything grabs their attention, how everything is something new, something to be curiously explored until it becomes and ingrained part of their world and, thus, no longer interests them.
I have “Scoobie Doo wire” ornamental thingies attached to my cell phone. They are a constant source of entertainment to my 10-month-old nephew, Xavier, who continues to come up with innovative ways to get his hands on them. He learns something new every time he tries.
A telephone ringing, the way sunbeams light up dust particles in a room, a dog or cat walking past, a stranger’s voice… all of it is so wondrous to a small child, all so new. As adults, we become so bloody desensitised to the world. Nothing excites. Or, more so, we learnt that finding certain cloud formations, or light rays interesting is “uncool” or “stupid” or “geeky”. We so easily lose our sense of appreciation for the world in which we live.
Another thing is how resilient children can be. To use Xavier as an example again, he’s pretty sick at the moment. He’s spent the whole day throwing up. We took him to the doctor to find he has rotovirus, which isn’t so bad if caught in time, but still pretty serious.
The whole time we were at the doctor, even after he woke up after getting home, he smiled and giggled and laughed at everything. Even when all he was bringing up was acid, which was clearly painful, he would swallow his grimaces, niggle just a tiny bit, and then go back to looking at the world, full of wonderment, completely unperterbed.
Sometimes, I wish we could be more like little kids sometimes.
I have “Scoobie Doo wire” ornamental thingies attached to my cell phone. They are a constant source of entertainment to my 10-month-old nephew, Xavier, who continues to come up with innovative ways to get his hands on them. He learns something new every time he tries.
A telephone ringing, the way sunbeams light up dust particles in a room, a dog or cat walking past, a stranger’s voice… all of it is so wondrous to a small child, all so new. As adults, we become so bloody desensitised to the world. Nothing excites. Or, more so, we learnt that finding certain cloud formations, or light rays interesting is “uncool” or “stupid” or “geeky”. We so easily lose our sense of appreciation for the world in which we live.
Another thing is how resilient children can be. To use Xavier as an example again, he’s pretty sick at the moment. He’s spent the whole day throwing up. We took him to the doctor to find he has rotovirus, which isn’t so bad if caught in time, but still pretty serious.
The whole time we were at the doctor, even after he woke up after getting home, he smiled and giggled and laughed at everything. Even when all he was bringing up was acid, which was clearly painful, he would swallow his grimaces, niggle just a tiny bit, and then go back to looking at the world, full of wonderment, completely unperterbed.
Sometimes, I wish we could be more like little kids sometimes.
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