2016

When I was in high school my English teacher handed out a questionnaire that we completed, sealed and opened a year later. I can't remember the questions and I wish I had kept these. For a few years I would write down my predictions for the year and save them on my computer. I would forget about them only to open the file a year later and often marvel at what I had accurately predicted and what had turned out so different! 

I am not one for New Years resolutions as they are hardly kept. But yesterday I posted the following status on Facebook:

Think about this time next year. What is the one question you will ask yourself? What is the thing you hope to do that you will want to look back and say "I did it". Tell me. So that I can write about it.

To those that responded; I'm recording your responses here. Check back with me this time next year and let's see how things turned out: 

I hope that I am still writing this time next year, and that I continue to find things to write about that are interesting.

I hope that I get to Israel, to spend time with my Aunt to talk about my dad, and my extended family who I have never met, and who I desperately want to get to know.

I hope Keith gets his Jet-ski.

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art - write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, that somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself. 

Neil Gaiman, Word Porn 

42.32

Forward this to 10 people in 10 minutes, or else!

Rules:
* Grab the book nearest you. Right now.
* Turn to page 56.
* Find the fifth sentence.
* Post that sentence along with these instructions in a note to your wall.
* Don't dig for your favorite book, the coolest, the most intellectual. Use the CLOSEST.

Mine: "And so do I, regret ... things I have done ... and not done" (Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts)

When I was a kid we used to get the Chain Letter in writing. People would either pass it to me during class at school, or it would arrive in the mail. I hated it. I grew up with a superstitious mother who wouldn't pass the salt cellar hand to hand for fear of starting a fight. So when I received letters telling me to copy and pass it on to 15 people before 5pm or I would turn into a pillar of salt, or have bad luck for the rest of my life, I did it. Without question. I am too superstitious not to.

In the Jewish religion, one of the holiest holidays is Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. On this day you fast for almost 26 hours not taking in anything by way of food or drink. On this day you atone for your sins, you ask for forgiveness and are afforded the opportunity to start the New Year afresh. The holiday is preceded by Rosh Hashana, the New Year and it follows 10 days later. During these ten days Hashem (God) decides your fate, which is sealed in the Book of Life. It's all very superstitious (look up the definition, it really is!). I was brought up being told that if I didn't atone for my sins, and broke my fast, then lightening would come down and strike me down. In fact as a kid, the Rabbi took it one step further and told us kids that Heaven is like a big cinema and the good people sit in the front near the screen with lots of popcorn and coke, while the bad kids sit at the back and get nothing. One year I decided to test the theory and make myself a bread and honey sandwhich (it was the only thing I could make really quickly without being caught) and I went down to the bottom of the garden and ate it. I waited, and waited, and am still waiting for that lightening bolt. But Im also still superstitious.

Facebook is full of Chain-type-Letters. Things that get posted and re-posted. The concept is the same, and my annoyance is the same. The one thing that makes me crazy is the standard message that "I doubt anyone will notice the suffering and post this on their status for an hour, blah blah blah". Frankly, if you know someone suffering, go and ask them how they are feeling rather than post a stupid status for an hour. Do you wait a full hour? What if you change your status at 55 minutes? And then there are the $45million worth of Facebook shares being given away by Zuckerberg. Seriously people.......someone added a line that Good Morning America had endorsed it and suddenly it became real? Come on! When did we become so gullible? Like my superstition, sometimes it's just safer to be gullible just in case!

The pg 56. instruction at the start of this post was one of those circulating a few years ago. I did it, and for some reason it has stuck on the side of my Facebook wall, somehow it got pinned there. But the truth is that I was reading Shantaram at the time, and the statement is what was there. And just as 42 is the answer to life and everything else, so is the notion that in life, we regret both the things we have done, and haven't. The trick it to ensure there is balance between the two.

42.31

Decision

I have a box filled with essays, poems and other stuff from school. Every now and then I plan to add them to my blog; as a way to preserve them. Some of them are downright awful....like the poems I wrote when I went through my Jim Morrison phase thinking I was like him. More to come. 

42.30

It's all about me

"My reason was entirely selfish. I wasn't thinking about my husband or my children, only myself."

"Well......good."

"Good?"

"Absolutely. It's when we imagine we know how others feel and presume to know what's best for them that mistakes are made. Whereas no one knows our needs better than us. Looking after number one's not as daft a policy as it sounds: make the only person happy that you can, let everyone else do the same and take care of themselves."

Woman with a Secret, Sophie Hannah

I was brought up with the notion that one should not be selfish; that the wellbeing of others should come first. I've always been the responsible one in many aspects of my life in terms of my family and friends. I am good at listening and I am good at working through an issue towards a solution. For this reason (I think) many people have leaned on me. There are times that I have come away from a conversation with someone and realized that we spoke about them the entire time, and wonder if I was even asked if I am OK. I usually am. But sometimes I want to be asked too. Luckily I have few friends that are that self-absorbed. 

I have a friend who feels the need to rescue everyone, who sees a psychological issue in every person, an anxiety caused by a childhood drama, an over zealousness caused by a need for love. I remind my friend that sometimes things just are they way they are. And nothing more than that. 

After my father died my mother (allegedly) tried to kill herself. My grandfather told her to keep it together because she had two young kids to look after. And from that day she did, but she didn't really want to. I look back and wish that she had been more selfish, way much more. I wish that she had taken an interest in herself, in her appearance, in dating. Maybe her life would be very different today. Or maybe she is as she should be. 

There is little that I ever want in terms of material need. Everything I want I have. Most of what I need comes in the form of emotional interaction. It took me a while but I learned at a relatively young age that I can put myself first without putting anyone else second. Soon after that I learned that I can also prioritize my needs over others in order to be able to compromise which is where making others happy comes into play. 

Keith is known by many as one who does not want to do what he doesn't want to do. We laugh at it, but he is the most content person I know. 

There is only one you. And it's all about you. But it's all about me too. 

42.29

Musings on death and dying

I am no stranger to death nor dying. I watched my father die in front of me, I watched my grandfather die from Cancer, I woke up to the news of my sister's death, I answered the phone to the news of friends that were gone. I once got a text message that a friend had committed suicide. Death is an inevitable part of life, it's kinda ironic.

I do not think that I am scared of dying, in fact there is little that I truly fear. My mother suffers from ornithophobia which is an irrational fear of birds. Trust me when I say that Trafalgar Square was not a good place to take my mother to on a trip to London. I have friends that suffer from anxieties. I have none of that and so I struggle to understand it. I have my complexes about my looks and body, but I am not fearful nor do they cause me anxiety to the point where I can't function. Maybe if I knew I was dying I would feel differently but I hope that when I go, I go quickly. I always think that while I lost them quickly, I am grateful that I didn't have to watch either my father or sister suffer nor have to make any decisions about life support as I have seen others have to do. 

In the Jewish religion we observe many customs around death. I grew up pretty Orthodox and so what I know is likely the strictest in terms of tradition. We do not believe in cremation, the body must return intact to the earth. As Jews, we are prohibited from desecrating the body by artificial means. This is why tattoos are traditionally banned, and in fact as a kid I was told that you could not be buried in a Jewish Cemetery if you were tattooed. Similarly you were buried in a separate section if you committed suicide, for the same reason. There are ideas around tattoos and cremation by gas chamber in the Holocaust that are debated in terms of modern burial and acceptance. I am tattooed, but I am not comfortable with being cremated. Arrangements are usually coordinated by the Jewish Burial Society (Chevra Kadisha). The burial must occur as soon as possible, preferably within 24 hours and until it occurs the body is laid on the ground or a flat surface with the head elevated and a volunteer guardian (Shomer) sits with the body at all times. The body is prepared (purified) for burial, a man washed by men, a woman washed by women by a process called Tahorah. The body is then dried and dressed in a simple white shroud (Tacharim) made of fabric such as linen that is sewn and consists of multiple pieces but no knots. This practice originated thousands of years ago following a rabbinic decree because people were spending too much money, which most could not afford, on funeral expenses not wanting to show the deceased less honour than others showed their loved ones. The Rabbi demanded that he be buried in the simple white linen that the High Priest wore in the Temple as it seemed fitting to wear that which was used to pray in. One is buried alone, without accompaniments or pockets, as you can't take anything with you. Ideally the body is placed directly into the ground, but when a coffin is used you may only use a simple pine box, with no metal, often having holes drilled into the bottom so that both the body, shroud and coffin return to the earth. Through these simple practices, it demonstrates that everyone is equal in death, both rich and poor and frees the bereaved family from any sense of duty to spend more than they can afford. In the modern world today, where cremation is more acceptable, the preference is to at minimum bury the ashes rather than scatter them. There are many customs that are observed following the funeral, but this post is not about that. 

In Canada we have recently had an End-of-Life Law upheld by the Supreme Court that allows for Doctor-assisted suicide. Canadian adults in grievous, unending pain have a right to end their life with a doctor's help as stated by the Court, the "sanctity of life" also includes the "passage into death". Naturally this has resulted in much debate and discussion. I know if it were me I would likely consider it as an option, especially knowing what a disease like Cancer can do to a body and mind. But again, as with my lack of fear of dying, I could feel very differently in a different situation. Today I listened on the news to concerns about nurses suffering from a form of PTSD from the assisted suicide process. I wonder how different that would be to the palliative care nurses that work in a Hospice? And I think that the problem with the concept is the word "suicide" that implies a want to die, as opposed to a want to not suffer. 

I don't quite understand suicide. I have had two close friends kill themselves, and one try but (thankfully) fail to do so. I was deeply affected by these acts. I questioned the methods, thinking that if it were me I would do it differently. And I questioned the reasons, not understanding how one can reach that deep, dark place, where there is no other option but death. My mother has threatened suicide many times, but we (my sister and I) never took her seriously. Once we gave her bottles of pills and told her to get it over and done with and we would be back in an hour. She was still lying there when we came back. She still threatens. I still tell her to go ahead. 

This year I followed the story of Brittany Maynard, a young woman in the US, suffering from an incurable glioblastoma (brain tumour). She was given six months to live and decided not to pursue any treatment. Because of the painful and difficult impending death she also decided to die with dignity, choosing a day in advance and becoming an advocate for this choice. She spent her last months campaigning and fulfilling her last wishes with her family that including traveling to places she wanted to see before she died. Her message was that she wanted to be in control, rather than have the disease control her. While suicide in Judaism is frowned upon, I am not sure how that would be viewed in terms of someone that is consciously avoiding pain and suffering. And of course, is it even suicide? 

When you sign up for healthcare in Canada you automatically get an Organ Donor's form. There are differences in opinion here in terms of Judaism as the intention is for the body to be buried intact, however from what I have read, immediate transplantation of an organ from donor to recipient is acceptable, as long as the organs are not stored i.e. used for research. I see unbelievable stories of patients saved through acts of donation, life from death and yet I have not been able to bring myself to sign the card. Keith says they can have everything except for his eyes, someone else I know says they can have everything except for her skin. Even in death, from life, we have a preference. I wonder what we are worried about?

I have strong beliefs about what I think happens after we die. I wrote about that here. I believe that this is not the end. I think that there are truths to parallel dimensions, I think that there are truths to the collective consciousness, I think that there is life after death, and life after life. Interestingly I do not believe that there is resurrection but maybe it is that part of me that has been taught of the coming of the Messiah who will resurrect, that prevents me from signing that organ donor card.

One day I will be gone. I can thankfully not predict when that will be, or how it will happen. I know it will not be by my own hand, but it may be be by another or by another name. As I wrote before, I hope I am remembered but I accept I will be forgotten. Maybe I will save a life.

In the meantime I ain't going nowhere 'cos god knows I don't want to be left out!

42.28

The Ugly Christmas Sweater Montage

Sometimes you communicate with words, other times in silence or through a look. Often we just laugh. Keith and I laugh a lot (even after all these years).

*props generously provided by Mitch and Mima.

42.27

Annually yours

The year that we arrived in Toronto saw us moving to Cabbagetown. We were invited to a dinner across the street but we had other plans and declined. What we didn't know was that this was their annual Christmas party for the street; we thought it was a sit down. We could have probably attended. 

The next year we went. And the next. And from that year on we spent every Christmas in Toronto with Petra and family (incl. brother and mother). This year we weren't sure if we would be together but tradition was on our side and they all drove out to the County today (incl. 3 dogs). 

The house was filled with voices, laughter and the noises of dog feet, barking and toy-tugging. We drank champagne, ate delicious food, had wine and lay around telling stories and laughing. We moved to the kitchen and snacked and watched the original Annie. The movie reminded me so much of my sister and I remembered every song and scene. We are still standing around the kitchen, hanging out. Enjoying each others company. It could be the scene of a movie.

I grew up Jewish and didn't celebrate Christmas. But we celebrated other holidays that meant tradition to me, where family was together. Christmas or Hannukah, today was about being together, forgetting about work and upholding an annual tradition. 

I am blessed to always be surrounded by people I love, whose company I enjoy. I love knowing that I am never alone. 

42.26

Merry Christmas, and To Kenneth. A Birthday Tribute

Though I grew up Jewish, and pretty Orthodox at that, I have celebrated Christmas for many a year. Before I met Keith I would often host a Jewish Christmas at my house, having my Jewish friends over for a fun day in the sun. We had a tradition of buying gifts under a certain amount, that would go in to a bag where we would then randomly pick them, and trade them. Who knew that we were our own Secret Santas! 

But Christmas is special to me for another reason. It's Ken's birthday. And not only that, his mom's name was Mary and his Great grandfathers was Joseph. Ken is Keith's brother, who I recently wrote about in my post Becoming Pfeiffer. And because I recently wrote about him, I thought I would pay tribute to his birthday through photos instead. 

Hanging out in Amsterdam, smiling for the paparazzi while calling for our hash cookies

 

Quietly enjoying each others company in a manly way, without eye contact

Pre scuba-dive (no we did not run out of air, no we did not forget to check the battery in our torches)

Taking flight

Sky-diving and rocky mountain climbing

One of the nicest guys I know, a father, brother, husband, boss and friend.

Mensch (Yiddish: מענטש‎ mentsh, cognate with German: Mensch "human being") means "a person of integrity and honor.^" According to Leo Rosten, the Yiddish maven and author of The Joys of Yiddish, "mensch" is "someone to admire and emulate, someone of noble character. The key to being 'a real mensch' is nothing less than character, rectitude, dignity, a sense of what is right, responsible, decorous." The term is used as a high compliment, expressing the rarity and value of that individual's qualities.

Happy Birthday Kenneth. 

 42.25

To Jan. A Birthday Tribute

It's been a long time since Janis and I saw each other, in fact if I am correct the last time we hung out was in 2002 when I was in Australia. But I have little doubt that if we were to bump into each other today, it would not make a difference. I believe the same to be true of anyone who is a friend of mine. 

I don't actually remember when we met. I think it was at a Chinese restaurant in downtown Johannesburg for my ex-Laurence's birthday. It was safer to go downtown then, and Chinese restaurants were underground, the tables had plastic clothes, the servers were the grand kids of the cooks and the food was delicious. Jan and Carla worked at an Italian/Pizza restaurant in Rosebank, I can't remember the name but I do remember meeting them after their shifts, or even going there during their shifts to hang out. We spent a lot of time together. 

Jan came up with the idea to write a book and call it "Other People's Lives". I wrote about that in one of my earliest blog posts. I loved Jan's perspective on life. She once told me she lived in a Christian neighborhood because she was less likely to be murdered among god-fearing beings. 

I miss you Jan. I miss our long chats. But I love keeping up with your life in Australia via Facebook and seeing how amazing the boys are. They are lucky to have you. Don't think I don't notice. I always do. 

Happy Birthday my friend. 

42.24

Man in the middle

We humans are an interesting lot. We are full of intricacies, complexities, complexes and information. Remember as kids when we played "Broken Telephone"? I wonder if kids today play it, or if there is a form of "Broken Text". For the young ones reading my blog (as if!), this was a game we would play as kids where we would sit in a circle and someone would whisper something in the ear of the person sitting next to him/her. They would then pass it on and this continued until the circle was complete. The last person would say what they had heard out loud, and inevitably it would be wrong. Far from the truth.

When I was younger I was less confrontational than I am now. I remember when we would argue at school that someone would say "But X told me.....", or "I discussed it with Y and they agreed with me". "Did you hear about P?". Information transfer happened(s) often and continuously. And it caused much trouble.

As I grew older I learned to speak my (piece) peace. I also think it's a South African thing, and while Canadians are known to be mild mannered, even tempered, and apologetic while South Africans are not, I have met many Canadians who are extremely politically correct and proper, and I have met many that are more like me. I say it as it is. I say it as I feel it. I used to give a shit about how things I said impacted on people but I don't anymore. I have learned that this is my truth, and as long as I utter words that I believe in, I am OK with that. If you aren't, then you need to figure out what that means to you and how to act on that. Feel free to tell me, I am happy to discuss. 

When someone upsets me I tell them. It's difficult for me not to. And once I have spoken, I'm over it. I don't hold grudges. I speak without fear of losing the friendship. When I am unhappy with a service I let them know. If am going to speak behind your back (and I do), then I will also say it to your face. 

I work remotely for my company, so I sit in what I call a "bubble". There is an office filled with people and personalities, and other "bubbles" around the world. The majority of my interaction with my work colleagues occurs in a vacuum of email. I miss out on the personal contact, the comments muttered under the breath, the conversations in the kitchen over coffee, the eye-rolls, the laughter, the comerarderie. 

However I think this gives me an objective perspective. I am someone that people like to tell things to, I think that I am able to listen and discuss without things becoming personal. I learned a long time ago that personal, in the workplace, doesn't apply. So I hear things, and I put stories together, and I see a perspective, but I am not there and so I miss out on the finer details and the gestures and the facial expressions. 

As with any office there are politics. I believe the same happens in friendships, though much less as you get older because time is not in abundance, and neither is giving a shit.

There are people in my office who don't get along. This is OK because we are colleagues, not friends. But some of my colleagues are my friends. While I am quite able to hold information in confidence, I am also not interested in being the middleman. And so today I was faced with the situation of being in the middle of two who shall not be friends. And I listened. And when they were done, I told each what the other had said about them and what someone else had not said but should have. I did this without betraying confidence, I did this in order to jump from the middle, I did this so as not to be stuck on the fence and yet not choose a side. 

Things don't always seem that simple, but sometimes they are. We get caught up in emotions and ego. Fran always told me to let go, detach and watch from the outside. When you do that, you see how things really are. When you speak your absolute truth, you can never feel bad. Because it's the purest form of the word, that can not be broken. 

This post was written under the strong influence of wine. Nothing in the post is true, but it's exactly the way things are.

42.23

A Lovely Love Story

Once upon a time,
They lived happily ever after.

42.22

To Lee. A Birthday Tribute.

There are two repeating messages I have been receiving since starting this year-long blog. The first is an outpouring of support and interest by way of people telling me how much they enjoy how I share my emotions or text messages at the end of the night demanding the next post. And the second is the statement of annoyance at not having been acknowledged in person.

Today was my very dear, very crazy, very lovable friend Mayleen's birthday. I waited until it was somewhat daylight in Australia to call and wish her a Happy Birthday. The conversation went like this:

L: Happy Birthday old girl

M: Thank you LAWRENCE (insert tone here)

L: Are you in the bath?

M: No, I just went to the toilet and am washing my hands.

L: I wouldn't have minded if you were in the bath.

M: Listen here LAWRENCE (insert tone here), don't worry about your blogs and not mentioning me, your oldest friend (or something like that). I'll be OK. 

L: I love you, you're hysterical.

M: The kids gave me a scratch card for my birthday and I won $6 so I'm going to be OK for the next year. Even though you don't love me anymore. 

L: I love you even more now. 

Yesterday I wrote about having a best friend; about the close and important people in my life. I focused on one friend. Prior posts have referred to specific people that I love. But not everyone. Mayleen commented on Facebook today that maybe one day she would get a mention. She wasn't the only one. Now, I know that most of this is in jest, but there is a point here. How can I write about the important things that form my life, without talking about the important people within it? How can I reference one person in favour of another? And when I do, does it signify any importance? I reminded Mayleen via Facebook that I have 345 posts go to, and to be honest, there are nights when I wonder what the hell I am going to write about.

Sometimes I think about dying, and not having the opportunity to say the things to the people that I love, to tell them what I want them to know. I remember when I was younger wanting to write letters to my friends and seal them in a box. The idea was a little dramatic and probably gained from some soap opera I was watching at the time. But as we grow older together more happens, the perspectives change and new friends come along so the contents of those letters are likely to change.

Tonight I decided that part of this personal challenge will involve acknowledging the people in my life, by writing a tribute to them on their birthday. This does not necessarily mean that I will be able to include every one, and it certainly does not imply that if you do not feature that you are any less important. 

Mayleen - you are, and always will be, the first!

We became friends instantly, and we became instant friends. They passed me a note in Hebrew class and I stared at them blankly not knowing that I was expected to read it, reply and pass it back. I soon learned. 

Her dad was a little scary. They had two phone lines at their house and the one was always engaged (busy) so one night I called the other. Jack answered and demanded to know where I got the number from and not to use the office line again. Her dad was a little scary.

I will never forget the day that Jack died. It was also my sister's birthday. They called Mayleen from our class and a few minutes later they came to get me. She had asked that I come home with her. Audrey drove us home and we sat in the back seat of the car. Audrey reached back and rubbed my leg in comfort, thinking it was Mayleen's. I didn't have the heart to tell her it was mine. 

Mayleen met Wayne at camp when we were in Std. 9. I think that would be equivalent to 11th Grade here. They spent the first year commuting between Johannesburg and Pretoria and are still together after 26 years. I was dating Einat at the time and the four of us would hang out together a lot. We had a ton of fun. We laughed a lot. We were kids who enjoyed being kids. I was honoured to give Wayne his bachelor party and play a part in their wedding. I was devastated when they left South Africa. 

I remember the Matric Dance dress disaster, both when it got burnt, and when someone else was wearing the same one! I remember visiting her at the store in Hyde Park, I remember demanding to speak to Wayne during a fight, when she said "and Wayne agrees with me!". 

We shared our 21st Birthday together with a themed Adams Family party. 

Mayleen was (is) always stylish. When I bought my first flat (apartment) she helped me furnish it down to the last piece of cutlery. I still have that blue cutlery set.

One year I had to go to New Zealand for work and decided to stop in Sydney and surprise Mayleen. I arranged the whole thing with Wayne and arrived at their house while she was out. She never returned. She was shopping. It reminded me of days back in Pretoria when she would buy something from a store because it was on sale, or announce that her mom was paying half so it was a good deal. Finally Wayne called her and demanded that she get home immediately. I was waiting in the garage and when she saw me she screamed "Dammit, don't you know not to scare a pregnant woman like that?". That was Jamie, who just turned 8, so that was 9 years ago. 

I have thousands of memories and stories, I have thousands of photos. I couldn't possibly write them all down even if I tried. We know each others secrets. We are far apart, and haven't seen each other in a long time, but when we speak it's like we saw each other yesterday. 

I will always love and cherish you May-tin-ski. We will always be friends. If you ever need me, I'll be there.

42.21

When one best friend isn't enough

Most of us had a best friend as a kid. It was the one person that knew all your secrets and who you hung out with the most. Sometimes there were two, but in that situation often one was a best best friend. 

In school my best friend was Martin. This was not the same as my "special friend" my 75 year old Aunty Bessie referred to in my 20's. I left that school and moved to another city when I was 15. I made new best friends. 

After University I met Neil. Initially I thought we may be "special friends" but casual foolery quickly turned to a strong and bonded friendship. While we were not a couple, we acted like one. We did everything together, we went to parties and clubs together, we laughed and cried together, we travelled together. For a very long time we spent every single night together hanging out either at his place or mine, drinking tea and eating aero. 

As we got older, and moved into separate romantic relationships, the friendship remained strong but the nights of tea and aero waned. The dynamics of the best friend changed. While I knew a lot of people, I relied on a small group of friends for my needs; each giving me something important and of sustenance. As time passed and as our lives changed some of these extended across continents and time zones. These were my best friends. Still are. 

When we moved to Toronto we only knew two or three people. I've always been relatively extroverted and so find it easy to meet people. And I've always needed people around me. Keith, on the other hand is happy and content with his own company, not needing large amounts of interaction. So this forced me to go out and meet people because I was lonely and I needed a tea and aero friend. I joined a spinning group, I went online, I stalked people with their dogs at the park. And so a new circle of friends formed. New best friends. 

For a long time I missed the friends that were far away and often felt that the sense of history was missing. But then time passed and now I find myself surrounded by people with who I have a shorter but as intense history, friends that give me something important and of sustenance. At my age the one best friend isn't necessary, because the circle that surrounds me, both near and far, comprises all my best friends. 

And with this maturity comes less of a need to meet people and an understanding that it is the connection that is important. I find myself content and almost uninterested in small talk with people with whom I have no connection. Often I face some relative stranger and watch their mouth moving but all I hear is screaming inside my head. I fantasize about screaming at them or just walking away. During a recent conversation with a stranger, while listening to him tell me about his properties, cars and overseas trips, I found myself wondering what would happen if I just vomited on him. I didn't, I just smiled and pretended to be interested. 

Keith, on the other hand, doesn't pretend. He's known by many, cherished and loved, but when he's done, he's done. When a friend got married and was asked what time the wedding reception would end she replied "When Keith Pfeiffer goes home". That's not to say that he doesn't forge strong friendships but certainly not as quickly or as required as I do. He warms slowly but when he does he loves fiercely. He enjoys entertaining and always prefers travelling with friends. Having said that, he's often happiest at home doing his own thing. We've joked that we have so many TVs because we would otherwise have to talk to eachother. Once when his phone was dying Keith updated his Facebook status:

There are so many things in the world that are frightening. There are so many things that challenge us. And then there are our friends. For me, this is what makes all those frightening, challenging things go away. I am happiest when I am connected, sitting at a restaurant or lounging on the floor with my friends. I am happiest waving at the familiar face on the street, chatting to the people I know at the dog park or joking with my colleagues. 

Feeling connected and needed nurtures me. 

This blog is for all my best friends. 

42.20

Rambling

There was a tragedy this week where a friend's friend was murdered. I asked him how he was feeling today and he replied that this has put things into perspective for him. This is such an interesting statement to me. 

I am no stranger to tragedy. By our age, many of us have experienced some form of loss. I remember in high school there would be between-clique-fighting. This one wasn't talking to that one because the other one kissed the guy she liked. Or vice versa. 

And then one day someone's dad died. And suddenly we were all friends, and the fights were forgotten and we were loudly announcing that there are more important things in life. Until the next week when she tried to kiss him again and the other she didn't like it and she said "no, you di'int" and the between-clique-fighting resumed. 

Grief is such an important process. It is devastating, it feels all-consuming and as much as you try to fight it there is no escape. But it is important to give in to it, because if you do, you will overcome it. 

We complain about the things that we struggle with, don't like, want less of, want more of. And then we are reminded of people worse off than us and suddenly it puts things into perspective and we laugh at our first world problems. Until FedEx doesn't deliver and you have to drive all the way to the local facility to pick it up and that just pisses you off. 

Living life requires an oscillation of every kind of emotion. You need to experience the dark to appreciate the light. See the ying and you will feel more compassion for the yang. Don't despair when you get caught up in your own world of problems, because they are your own. And something will always come along and put things into perspective following which you will re-allign, and return.

Advice from a 40-something year old.

42.19

Threats of unfriending

Facebook has become the benchmark by which friendships are measured. There have been moments and conversations that have included the notion that if you are not Facebook friends, you are not friends. So much is said with a click. I like you, click "friend request". You annoyed me, I don't like your opinions, you post too much, "click unfriend" (yes, I'm sure).  Unfriending is not something I do. I've done it purposefully twice, once because of racist comments that I just could not condone and once because I was pissed. But the problem then is taking the risk that I am unable to stalk you if your security settings prevent non-friends from seeing shit. And that is just not acceptable to me.

Often I see someone announcing their intention to "clean up" and declare your luck if you are seeing "this message", because that means you made the cut. Sometimes I remember something or someone, or something about someone and go looking, only to find that we are (gasp!) no longer friends.

My friends Mitch & Mima are a young married couple and close friends of ours. We are all Facebook-connected. We always knew that it was only a matter of time that a baby's arrival would ruin our friendship.  And so I threatened early and often, of unfriending, should they fall pregnant. And then they did. And I didn't. 

She got bigger and closer to term and we were still Facebook friends. I decided that I would postpone the unfriending until she got to term because I wanted to still enjoy their company. At some point in time, my friend Christina & I tried our hardest to convince them to name their unborn child after us under the threat of unfriending. They didn't. We didn't either. 

And then along came Violet. The sweetest little goose. She joined us at brunch, she came over to play, we went for walks. She hangs out with us in the County and whenever I am in town I stop by for a snuggle and a selfie on my way to or from somewhere. I am in love with this kid. Keith and I fight about who will hold her, and who soothes her best. Christina and I fight about who gives her the better gifts. Mitch & Mima are amazing relaxed parents who have not let the goose's arrival significantly alter their lives in terms of spending time with their beloved Facebook friends. We don't give a hoot if Violet screams the restaurant down, but let any other person with a child interrupt our meal and I will friend and unfriend them immediately! My threats of unfriending now extend to what baby Violet will and will not be/do. There is nothing serious about my words, I want to see this kid grow up. I want to tell her stories and embarrass her in front of her boyfriends. Yet I still jokingly threaten as if a social media connection is what keeps us connected. I will never unfriend them.

I think that Facebook, and social media in general, is pretty amazing. When my friends started emigrating from South Africa we would lose touch. There would be occasional emails and letters or phone calls but the days flew by fast and the information was not always current. When I emigrated I had a very different experience, I posted pictures and updated my status, I watched the same of my friends and family that were far away and across time zones and felt connected. We were ever present in each others lives. And still are.

So for all the over sharing, and ridiculous posting, and crap that we have to sift through, there is something to be said about being a Facebook friend.

But don't piss me off. Because I will threaten to unfriend you. And if you are reading this then you are one of the lucky ones that avoided any clean up.

42.18

Growing up gay

I wrote a few blogs ago about living two lives; one gay, one straight. This shall be tonight's topic. 

I don't feel that I grew up in an overly conservative environment. I'm not sure that staying in the closet had anything to do with that, yet it is an interesting concept that in order for a gay person to be him/herself, you need to announce who you are to the world. I don't know when I knew that I was different, there was no bells-ringing or defining moment. I always say that when you are 13 and horny, and you close your eyes when you touch yourself (or keep them open if you must), whoever you think of, is what you are. Bisexuality, in my opinion, is often an excuse for not, or slowly, coming out of the closet. Who ever heard of a 76 year old bi guy?

I had girlfriends at school and I did all the things that you are expected to do with a girlfriend. And I enjoyed it. At the time I thought that I would meet someone, get married and have kids, and occasionally play with guys on the side. I definitely wasn't the first to consider it, certainly wasn't the last to do it. I'm glad I didn't though because the consequences are not something I feel I needed to learn. 

One night I was out cruising the wrong place and met a guy. We went home together. And stayed together for the next 5 or 7 years. He was openly gay, I wasn't. I met his friends and was introduced as his boyfriend. In the beginning it was weird for me but I soon felt comfortable. He met my friends as a buddy. I have no doubt that my friends suspected something was going on but nobody ever said anything. On more than one occasion I was informed by my mother that he was obviously gay and trying to convert me. He succeeded. I was at University in Johannesburg and we moved into an apartment together, a two bedroom that was fully furnished but only one bedroom was actually in use. We were the happy couple to his friends, roommates to mine. 

My mother, sister and I went on an overseas holiday and my boyfriend was upset that I didn't invite him, but I couldn't because he was my roommate, not my boyfriend. But one night I called him from New York from the payphone in the hotel corridor and my mother overheard us talking. And she knew. And she didn't get out of bed for the next three days. I got back from our trip and he met me at home, sat me down, said "Welcome back, I'm leaving". He had met someone else, on the new internet thing, and he wanted to rather be with this guy who was not ashamed to be in a relationship. So he left. 

I was devastated and broken and I needed support so I called my friends crying that he had left me. And they came. And they didn't ask questions. And I told my mother why I was so upset and I told her to deal with it. 

I realised that the only person that had been in the closet was me. Everybody knew, and didn't quite give a shit. I am one of the lucky ones that did not lose one single friend when I finally came out; to myself. 

It's easier today, it was easier when I was a teen than it had been for Keith when he was. A friend texted me today and said she was hanging out with her cousin and his trans kid and I barely registered a response other than to ask how old the kid was.

Sometimes people ask me what my wife does and I tell them. Sometimes I tell them my wife is Keith. Sometimes I say I'm not married. I stopped needing to come out a long time ago, I stopped living two lives. 

42.17

A Christmas wish

About a week ago I posted a story I had seen to my Facebook page about Safyre, who lost her family in a horrible murder. She also lost an arm, a leg, and had most of her body covered in disfiguring burns.  I looked at the photos of Safyre, and all I saw was a cute little girl. And all she wants is Christmas cards. So I asked who was going to join me and send her a card. I know a bunch of people commented that they would, and since have. Today I mailed a bunch of cards to Safyre. So many of my friends said "I'm in". At a restaurant last night I hauled a card out of my bag, turned to the person next to me and said "write something to this little girl who got badly burnt; her name is Safyre". And she did. 

In a world of first problems, sometimes you just need to act out in simple kindness. 

Merry Christmas Safyre, and all the brave souls out there.

42.16

In the dentists's chair

I had to go to the dentist today and what I thought would be a 30 minute appointment ended up taking three hours. It was a long three hours (I haven't had my mouth open that long since I was 20) but during this time I had the pleasure of listening to the conversation in the room next to mine. Therein lay a Yorkville Lady (YK) in the chair (yes, I am stereotyping, so this means puffed up lips, very very thin hips and a fabulous LV bag) and the oral hygienist (oh) next to her. I found it interesting that YK could speak as much as she did, because when I get my teeth cleaned I cannot utter any type of understandable words. 

This is what their wise words taught me today:

One: Trump has it hard.

Yes, you heard it. Apparently while his views may not be the most progressive, he is being treated extremely harshly and unfairly. It would seem that the majority of America resonates with Trump. 

Two: Trump will get in if Hillary gets the ticket.

The first 3 minutes were spent trying to determine if Hillary is still running. Once this fact was established, though without true certainty, it was decided that Trump would definitely get in should she win the ticket. According to YK or oh, Hillary is not popular. 

At this point oh complimented YK on being "politically astute". Or maybe it was the other way around.

Three: The Canadian emigration policy has been significantly altered.

It became apparent that either oh or YK were of emigrant roots. I was soon to learn that things were very different in those days, compared to today. At this moment I reflected back on my own emigration experience to try and draw parallels. When I came to, I learned that emigrants of earlier days had to show that they were going to contribute in some way to the Canadian economy, that they absolutely had to speak English and that they could not just arrive and have things handed to them on a platter. This made them a lot more grateful. I wracked my brains to think about a recent emigration story that this may have been referenced to. My mind drew a blank. 

Four: White people are becoming extinct.

This was truly my favorite part of the discussion. It would seem that there is so much inter-racial mixing that soon white people will cease to exist. And this is of critical concern to either oh or YK (I could not figure out who was who and tried very hard to listen for the sounds of words coming from a mouth full of fingers and metal instruments). Apparently like should stay with like, as she told her 8th grade daughter who announced that she liked a Chinese boy. And who was immediately told to stick with her own race. At this point ok or YK announced that they were of a mixed-race family and god dammit, the dentist inserted a drill into my mouth and pounded away, drowning out the delicious sounds coming from the room next door. 

I giggled, the dental assistant looked at me and said "You're listening to the conversion next door aren't you?". 

And unlike my counterpart, with a mouth full (which is not something I am used to), I said "uh huh"

42.15

An ordentlike affair

It's past midnight and I almost forgot to blog! It won't be a long one tonight, or one that is very deep. Sometimes it's just gonna be a diary entry. I went to the Gentleman's Christmas tonight. This is an annual event in Toronto for charity, mostly to collect toys for kids. If you want to be invited you need to get on the list (Step 1). This is not an easy thing to do. I first got on the list three years ago. Tonight was the first time I attended. 

Step 2 is to wait for the RSVP email that is sent out sometime at the end of November each year. And then Ar Es Vee Pee as soon as you can. Last year I responded immediately and within minutes got an email back letting me know that I was on the waiting list. I happened to see my friend Stuart later that day and mentioned to him that I was disappointed to be waitlisted and he casually let me know that he had replied AFTER me and got in. I was devastated at the blatant favouritism. 

I happened to be checking email when the invite came in this year and I responded without hesitation. You're in, she replied. And life was good. 

Everyone dresses up for this shindig and so I got myself a three-piece suit together with pocket square and bow tie that everyone was impressed with as it was freshly tied and not clipped on. We placed gifts under the tree and hobnobbed with vodka sodas in our hands. I remember a few years ago going out and feeling sad that I didn't know people. In South Africa I would go to a bar or club and know everyone. Tonight was like old SA. I bumped into familiar faces, I chatted to friends and even got introduced to people that I had seen around but never formally met. I smiled at the new faces and many smiled back. 

It was a civilized night of giving. The air outside was chilled but felt more like a fall evening than winter. The buildings are lit up. The city is alive. 

And so am I. 

42.14

Reflection

Stood in the sunlight and stared through the glass,

In it I saw a reflection of myself and my self,

Not always the same. 

42.13

Welcome to Canada / bienvenue au Canada

This was my Facebook status last night

 and this is why......

According to the WWW, "by the end of August 2014, the UN estimated 6.5 million people had been displaced in Syria, while more than 3 million refugees had fled to countries such as Lebanon (1.14 million), Jordan (608,000) and Turkey (815,000)."

There are hundreds of thousands of refugees living in camps in these countries. I can only image what the conditions are like. 

Actually, I probably can't. 

I arrived in Canada after a leisurely business class flight from Johannesburg.  Keith did the same a month or so later. The dogs (three of them) flew here via Amsterdam in warm crates with blankets and toys. Our entire household was packed up, boxed, and shipped to Toronto via Montreal. Every box was packed in Johannesburg, and unpacked in Toronto. We didn't lift a finger. I had a job. There was no disruption of my salary other than a conversion from South African Rand to Canadian Dollar. Sure, I lost a little with the exchange rate and so for the first year at least we "dropped our standard of living" by buying groceries at No Frills, went without a car for 4 years and only ate out once a week. 

I believe that we (Keith and I) worked hard to integrate and we made a concerted effort to learn the Canadian way but we had it easy. And we have benefited immensely from this opportunity, and from the attitude that is Canada, that welcomes you with open arms, because approximately 20% of the population of Canada comprises foreign-born individuals who arrived as emigrants, and that is one of the things that makes this country great. 

There was no prouder day for me than the day that I stood in front of a Judge and took my Oath of Citizenship. I have written before about how I used to ridicule Americans for their overt patriotism because as a South African, while I love and adore Africa, didn't feel that allegiance to my country. But I felt (feel) it for Canada. Now I get it.

There are those that have challenged the processes that you have to follow to become a Canadian Citizen and I have been very vocal about this both in person and on Facebook. Canada prides itself on being liberal, tolerant, accepting and anti-discriminatory. This, in my opinion, has lead to some occurrences of abuse. There is a fine line between acceptance, and integration. On one side we pride ourselves in being able to accommodate all cultures, religions and views and yet on the other there is the battle to maintain the Canada that has fought hard to distinguish itself from others. There are those that want to become Citizens, but refuse to take the Oath because it involves swearing allegiance to the Queen; there is the recent debate around a woman's refusal to remove her Niqab and show her face during the ceremony. My opinion, and my opinion alone, is that as an emigrant I am lucky and grateful to have been accepted by this Country and as such it is my duty to accept the country for what it is according to the existing rules by which it is governed. I did not have to become a Citizen, I could have remained a Permanent Resident indefinitely. I chose to become a Citizen and as such, I chose to accept the rules and requirements associated. I think that Citizens have the right to voice their opinions and decide on changes, but I do not agree that non-Citizens have the right to make changes, in order for, or prior to them to become Citizens. Regardless, I would bet that the majority of us, whether we agree or nor, have had plenty opportunities and choices.

The Syrian refugees do not.

A few months ago we (well, most of us) proudly welcomed in Justin Trudeau as Prime Minister. I voted for him; not only because he's really cute, but because he IS Canada (to me). Last night he waited at the airport as the first refugees arrived in Canada. There are tears in my eyes every time I watch the news coverage, see the gift packages, clothes,  hear of the multitude of families that are contributing privately to assist these people in their journey. My father was a refugee out of Romania, my great grandparents fled Lithuania. I didn't flee South Africa, but I left because I was seeking a better life.

Of the arriving refugees, Mr. Trudeau said "Tonight they step off the plane as refugees but they walk out this terminal as permanent residents of Canada with social insurance numbers, with health cards, and with an opportunity to become full Canadians".

Watch the video below, and tell me you didn't feel something.

Welcome to Canada / bienvenue au Canada

 'You Are Home': Canada's Justin Trudeau Welcomes Syrian Refugees 

42.12
 

Not the A-gay, but yet all the moms love me

I loved my childhood. This despite any of the hardships that you have heard about.  I loved school, especially high school. I would like to think that I was popular; I had a fantastic group of friends. I never felt that I didn't fit in. I was never excluded. I am still close to many of those friends today. 

Keith and I commented today about birthday posts for a young 18-year old that we know. He is your typical straight boy, and his guy friends were writing long, emotional messages to him on Facebook today. It's wonderful to see boys unafraid to show emotion, as opposed to the days when it was frowned upon; maybe not as much during my childhood as it was for Keith. 

This post is not about knowing when I was gay. It's a frequent question though. You just know. But even though I knew, I only had girlfriends at school and into at least my second year of University. The answer to the second question is Yes. I do however I suspect that the fact that I spent many nights lying in the bath crying, while listening to Michael Bolton, after one girlfriend dumped me, was a clear indication of where my life was headed. 

Coming out was a slow process and for a while I lead two separate lives. But I think I will leave that story for another blog given that I have 354 posts to go. 

Any type of social group has it's hierarchy. And in many of these you find the popular mean girls (the Plastics) at the top. In my world I call them the A-gays. These are the boys with beautiful, chiseled bodies. The Jock equivalent in the straight world. They have perfect hair, they spend hours in the gym, they drink protein shakes and they take their shirts off at any opportunity. While many will find themselves in relationships the majority struggle because there is always something better around the corner; they seem to always be looking for the next best thing. 

The B-gays are your boy next door, the guy your mom loves ("what a waste", she says), who may be just as good looking (or not), who goes to the gym and tries to hard to eat healthy but would never take his shirt off in a club unless it was very very dark. I think I'm a B.

The C-gays are in relationships. Wait, I may be a C.

D-gays are anyone over 30. Too old to be a gay and may as well be 60. Oh Jesus, I turned 42 two weeks ago, I'm a D.

All ex-boyfriends are E-gays.  I'm definitely someone's E. 

Like woman (I think), but unlike the average straight man (I think), there is a huge amount of pressure on the gay man to be thin, be good looking, have a gym body, be young. I am a pretty extroverted guy and yet I am extremely self-conscious. I think that I am not very good looking, and on the chubby (Keith calls it beefy) side. I blame some of this on Jewish genes (not my fault) and I blame some on my love of food (not my fault).

There was a time that I would catch my reflection in the mirror and shudder. And I would feel depressed for the rest of the day. I would tell myself that there is nothing wrong with the way I look and yet I couldn't stop the self-hatred. Because I was not an A-gay. I still feel it sometimes, but not as much. Turning 40 changed that - another possible blog.

Keith used to tell me to enjoy my body while I had control over it, because the time would come that I would not have that control, and I would regret not enjoying it when I did. He was right. But he is also the most content guy I know, so comfortable in his own skin. I've never been comfortable in mine. 

I have one A-gay friend that I believe became my friend by accident. Yet we have been friends for over 20 years. An A and a B/C/D/E. It happens.

I would be lying if I said I didn't (in the past) have friends that I thought made me look better in public. I have an ex-boyfriend who refused to be friendly with fat people. There are other reasons why he is an ex-boyfriend. 

I'm going on vacation in January that will include a beach. There are days when I look at myself and think that I'm OK. On others I look at myself and cringe, because I don't have the willpower not to eat that slab of chocolate, because I didn't make it to the gym for two days, because I think that people are staring at the ugly boy, because I think that nobody will notice me. There are also days that none of this matters.

Many of you reading this will be surprised to know how much I worry about what I look like. But this also means that I probably have no idea what your issues are when I look at you. Often the things I hate about myself, are the things I love about other people. For example, I think a bald man can be extremely sexy, yet I wish I had a full head of luscious hair. I have absolutely no interest in the muscled guy and think that a guy with a few extra kg's can be pretty attractive, yet I HATE the extra weight that I carry. 

What I know for sure, is that when I look at anyone I take them for what they are. My sister taught me this. Keith taught me this. 

So I will continue to strive to take myself for what I am, with all my complexities, because I am the best that I can be.

42.11

Copy and paste

I find that I am often multi-tasking. I sit at my desk with my computer in front of me, email open, spreadsheets open, online document management software open. I have my personal email and my work email. Facebook is open. My phone is on my desk beeping. There are two desktops, one laptop, two iPads and many phones in this house. There are TVs and USB sticks and external hard drives. The stove says "Hello chef" when I walk past. My car can parallel park itself. 

I respond to emails, and texts and switch between screens. I edit a document and then hear the beep of an email coming in and check it quickly. I respond. My phone beeps. I check. I think to myself I'll respond later. I go back to my email. I've forgotten the document I was working on.  

I cut and paste. I forward. 

I do my best to make sure that when I respond to an email I check the name of the person in the "To" field. I do my best to check that I don't reply all when I have something private to say. I don't always succeed. 

My nephew and I send each other messages. Bad ones. Naughty ones. Sometimes we use email, sometimes we text, sometimes we WhatsApp.

I had a naughty message today. It was sent via WhatsApp. I copied it and forwarded it to Louis via iMessage.

Later on I was texting a friend and colleague. A woman. Whom I respect. I was asking work-related advise. She is the person that makes sure things are done the right way. I copied a link from my phones browser where I had looked up something on the FDA website, and texted it to her. But my phone pasted the last thing I had sent. It was the bad, naughty video I had sent Louis earlier. I hit send and then looked. I didn't check like I normally do when I send an email because I've mistakenly sent messages by email before so I have learned that lesson. Clearly I haven't learned this one. I wish I could blame the phone. 

The colour drained from my face as I read the response:

"My eyes!!!!!!!!"

My sincere and public apologies to KM. I promise always to check before I send bad, naughty messages. 

42.10

Becoming Pfeiffer

I first saw Keith at the Melrose Arch gym. The gym is attached to a hotel so frequented by international visitors. When we first laid eyes on each other I saw this well-built, tattooed skinhead who gave off a very straight air so I didn't pay him much attention. He thought I was a Spanish tourist. I then flew off to Vancouver to see my friends Merle and Sid get married and so disappeared for a few weeks. About a month later I saw him again at the same gym and according to Keith, this time he waited outside for me to come out, and after 45 minutes he gave up and left. Keith is prone to exaggeration (and impatience), I think he probably waited 5 minutes. 

These were the days after mIRC but before Grindr. We used Gaydar then and one day I was surfing the profiles and came across "cableguyza" who had a very familiar profile pic. I immediately messaged him and said "Remember me?". And boy did he; we had a dinner date planned within minutes. 

I arrived at the Thai Restaurant in Sandton Square and noticed that he smoked the same brand of cigarettes I have given up the previous year. It took me 11 years to get him to give those up. I think that dinner was good, I don't really remember. Afterwards he invited me back to his place and we were standing in line at the pay station when I turned back to him and said "Hey, what car do you drive?". He told me and I replied with "Meet me here, I'll follow you home". The guy behind him looked shocked, thinking I had just picked up this stranger while getting my parking ticket. I suppose he wasn't far off, I've done worse.

That was 12 years ago, and we've been together pretty much ever since. A few nights later I wasn't feeling well and cancelled plans to see Keith. Instead of accepting a rain check he invited me over and cooked me soup. I was stubbornly single at the time and this was in September. I was due to go to the Sydney Mardis Gras the following March with my friends Daniel and Adrian and there was no way I was tying myself to one guy. So I denied any form of relationship for the next 6 months even though we were together constantly and happily flew off to party in Australia. We did. It was amazing. And I called Keith every day to say "Hi!". I returned and declared myself to be "in a relationship". 

I started to meet Keith's friends who claimed that our relationship would not last a year. He started to meet mine who said that if we ever split up they would choose him over me. He introduced me to his family. This blog is for them. 

Kenneth: We used to visit Keith's older brother at his house in Hyde Park for the occasional lunch. It took me some time to get to know him. Ken was a straight oak who kinda intimidated me. But the more time we spent together the more I got to know him and love him. We share a love of scuba diving and one year went away to Mozambique together. I hadn't dived in a few years and Ken and I pretty much went out on a dive two or three times a day for a week. It reignited my love for being under water and it created a bond between us. Later on we went sky-diving together. When Keith had his stroke Ken got hold of me immediately and told me that no matter what, he would always look after me. We don't communicate often but when we are together it's like no time has passed. Nobody makes Oxtail like Ken does.

Dora: Doreen has told me from day one that I am her favorite. I don't care if she says that to the whole world, it makes me smile every time she says it. She used to make CD mixes full of music for Keith that I would steal and put in my car. I still have some of them. She was the first person to visit us in Toronto, she saw our first New Year in with us. She left her shoes at our house and Keith gave them away; I wonder if she's forgiven him? Doreen's art lines our offices in Johannesburg and our hallway in Toronto.

Traci: We met Traci shortly after Ken and she started dating. You couldn't find yourself a more genuine person if you tried. She makes me laugh, she spams me with silly emails, she calls me her brother. We have traveled together, we have cried together, we got stoned in Amsterdam together. If I thought Ken was intimidating when I first met him, I was yet to be introduced to her brother-in-law Jack; the gentlest giant, the warmest guy. And gorgeous Nicole, and Jess and Tristan who accept us without question.

Louis: Keith's nephew and I have a special relationship. I adore him (but don't tell him that). On any given day we are exchanging words that should never be written down. He has a sick, incredible sense of humour that I love. And he calls me Aunty Lolly. I think he wants to be like me when he grows up.

Nats: The most beautiful person inside and out. I once flew to New York to meet her and we painted the town red, green and blue. We almost licked a NYC Cop and we crashed a Drag Queen's Birthday Party. The family celebrated Louis and Natalie's wedding in Spain a few months before Keith and I emigrated to Canada. It was magical and beautiful. The wedding lasted a whole day; we had lunch, and speeches, and a wedding on the beach following by late night pizza in the sand. I cried that night because my heart was broken at having to say goodbye. They have since added Gabriella and Leah to the family mix and I love seeing their Instagram pics; and am sad that I'm not watching them grow up.

There are more, there's Nat's family in Alan and Louisa, and Brigitte and Michael (who I am still waiting to visit us in Canada) and Eric and Tammy. 

The hardest part about emigration is being split apart from the people that you love, and who love you. 

When I was younger I yearned to be able to sit around a huge table of family of my own and I found it when I met Keith. If I only get to experience it once a year, it's not enough, but its enough to last me a lifetime.

Last year we flew to South Africa to attend Ken and Traci's wedding. After that day I became the last one in the group that was not officially a Pfeiffer. People often ask me if Keith and I will ever get married and most of the time I laugh and make some snide comment about gay marriage. But the truth is that we aren't married because we don't need to be. 

I became a Pfeiffer a long time ago.  

This blog is dedicated to my family. I love you all.

42.9

Keeping it simple

Conversation this morning:

Lawrence: Did you read my blog?

Keith: Yes

Lawrence: The one from last night?

Keith: I did

Lawrence: What did you think?

Keith: Why do your blogs always have to be so long? 

This blog is dedicated to Keith

42.8

Losing my religion

Today is the start of Channukah and many of my friends are posting pics of their Menorah on Facebook or Instagram. Today is also the anniversary of my Barmitzvah, it's been 29 years since I stood at the Bimah and read my portion from the Torah (the holy scrolls). 

At dinner tonight someone made a comment about being Jewish and I reminded them I was a member of the tribe too. 

I grew up pretty religious. South African Jews, in contrast to many parts of the world, would be considered pretty Orthodox. My mother kept a Kosher home because she felt it important to give my sister and me the option. On Pesach we hauled out the special crockery and cutlery (one set for meat and one for milk) and sealed up the chometz (all bread and associated goods). On the night before the festival started we would turn off the lights and follow the tradition of seeking out crumbs of bread with a candle and feather. 

I went to Shul (Synagogue or "Jewish Church" as I've heard it be referred to) every Friday night. I went to a Jewish school where we prayed every morning and I laid Tefilin. In the evenings I studied aspects of religion with a Rabbi that I was friendly with. My extended family thought I was way too religious and on the path of becoming a Rabbi myself. 

My Jewish identity was strong. 

For me Judaism is about religion but it's also about family and tradition. It's about community. Again, at dinner tonight, I made a comment that not everything needs to be blamed on ones childhood. Some things just are. Yet here I am about to lay the blame myself. 

My mother suffered from depression and other ailments and by some coincidence would sabotage events of seeming importance. She would be fine until a birthday approached and would suddenly fall ill. On High Holidays like Rosh Hashana or Yom Kippur we would often be invited to friends and she would fall ill the afternoon of the event having to suddenly cancel. My sister and I would end up making dinner for ourselves and watch TV while my mother lay in bed. It didn't happen all the time but it happened. 

My family was broken and fragmented and I yearned to sit at a table full of food and loud mouths. Over the years I had opportunity to do this first with family-by-girlfriend and later with family-by-boyfriend. I was blessed to be made to feel as much a part of those families had I been born into them. 

But I questioned my religion and beliefs. I questioned the rules. My favorite saying was "why believe in a religion that preaches freedom of choice and yet punishes you for choices you make". Naive as it was, things didn't seem to make sense. I then met a wonderful person who started to teach me about things that weren't my religion. We spoke about eastern philosophy, and Egyptology, and crystals and sacred geometry and Wicca! We meditated and we made spells. I studied Reiki. And I drifted farther and farther away from Judaism. I designed my own beliefs and came to my own conclusions. It's been 20 years. 

Earlier this year my friend Christina decided to make the Pesach dinner for me. She invited some friends and she did her research. We arrived to a table laid out perfectly with all the traditional and symbolic foods. We sat at the table and we began the Sedar (the story of the Jews wandering the desert). I had forgotten how much I knew, I remembered instantly, the words came back to me, the tunes to the songs flowed easily. It was a magnificent evening that took me back to the days when my identity was strong. 

It's been a long time since I was inside a Shul. I think that if I had married a nice Jewish girl and had nice Jewish kids I would likely not have stopped. For whatever reason I tied my sense of religious self to my feelings about family and because those were broken I thought the other was irrelevant. I blamed my childhood.  

For me, religion and faith are not the same. For me, family is not necessarily blood. I've written about that before. 

I was at a table of 11 tonight. We ate, we drank, we laughed, we snapped at eachother, we shared. We were family. We are all different, of different blood and religion, and yet there is something common that brings us together. I looked at my family around the table and I felt fulfilled. This is my religion. 

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