Not buying a house

It's interesting how you buy and sell a house here. In South Africa there is one agent, and he or she acts on behalf of both parties. This is obviously not the ideal situation but it has always seemed to work. My latest experience with selling a property in South Africa made it blatantly clear to me that once the deal is done, the agent is not interested (commission is guaranteed), and he or she will always be acting on behalf of the purchaser.

In Canada there is a buyer's agent and a seller's agent and it's strictly regulated as to how the roles function. We started working with our agent (realtor) in Canada months before we even arrived and Keith and I have been looking at houses since the day that Keith arrived. We've seen lots that we like and one that we love. So we decided to put in an offer. And this is how it went.

An appointment is made to present the offer. The buyer's agent takes the offer to the seller and his or her agent, in this case to their home. We waited outside in the car. They talked, and negotiated, and talked some more and then our realtor came out to the car with the counter-offer. We talked, and negotiated, and talked some more and sent him back inside with our counter-offer. They talked, and negotiated, and talked some more and sent him back to us with their counter-offer. And so it went, buy and seller in anonymous positions and buyer's agent and seller's agent in the line of fire.

We finally gave them 12 hours to make a decision on what was our final offer. They rejected us the next day. So we carried on looking but knowing inside that the house we loved, was the house we wanted. So we went back for round two. And an hour before the talk, negotiate and talk some more, the house was taken off the market.

We're not buying a house - not yet anyway.

House-hunting (do I really need windows and doors?)

We’ve rented a furnished apartment for a few months but it’s not perfect for us. We want our furniture, which has arrived and is now sitting in storage and we want a yard for the dogs. We’re staying in a great area called the Annex. Its part of the University of Toronto so there are lots of frat houses around us. We are close to the subway, busses, stylish Yorkville and downtown. But it’s an expensive area. Our South African Rand, after being converted to Canadian Dollars doesn’t mean much so our buying power is slightly limited but we definitely want to get into the property market. It’s certainly safer than leaving your money in the bank these days. We’ve been very fortunate to have secured a mortgage at a ridiculous rate (anything is ridiculous compared to South Africa where the prime lending rate is somewhere around 14% or 15% as opposed to here where it is hovering around 4%).

So Keith and I set off on Sunday to look at houses. We’ve been searching the Internet for about six months. Boy, were we in for a rude awakening. Our price range limits us to houses that made us want to cry. So off we went back to the bank this morning and begged for more, and they gave it to us. It’s interesting to hear the different perceptions that people have here. Toronto is essentially a safe city. The crime rate is low, there was something like 85 murders here last year (my numbers may be totally wrong, I’m just quoting what I’ve read) and when people talk about crime, they are generally referring to burglary and theft from cars. But one incident can make someone refer to an area as “high crime”, and “dangerous”. It’s relative when you come from a place like Johannesburg where you are surrounded on a daily basis with violent crime, hijackings, murder and rape. There are homeless people here, there are prostitutes and crack heads and there are questionable areas. I suspect that to a person who has lived here all their life, and not been exposed to crime like we have, that this is very dangerous. To us, who have become so immune, this is paradise.

So we are looking at three different areas that we like, and one is considered “dangerous” but we went and walked around the area tonight and for the Joburg people, it felt just like Melvillee; slightly grungy but full of life. We walked around for two hours, up and down the streets and I even stopped three people to ask them about the area and if they liked living there. We took the streetcar halfway home and then walked the rest of the way, stopping at Starbucks for the obligatory coffee (Grande, soy, wet, Splenda-in latte, and tall Americano with room please) and constantly amazed by the lone people walking around, lots of girls with headphones in their ears strolling along without a care in the world. It’s unbelievable for people like us, from the world we come from. Keith and I realise how much anger we lived with in South Africa, and how easily forgotten it is here.

So, I’ll take the crack heads, I’ll take the homeless and the projects, I’ll take the prostitutes, I’ll take the house that I can afford in the quiet street in the “dangerous” area and I’ll walk home alone late at night without looking over my shoulder, without fear that someone is going to kill me for my cell phone. I have no doubt that in a year’s time I’ll be able to sell my house in the “dangerous” area and move up. But I’ll take it, for now.

International Dogs

There was no question in my mind that if the dogs couldn’t come with to Canada, I wouldn’t go. Some people laughed at me but most understood, given how much a part of my life they are. A 7-month quarantine is one of the reasons why I would never consider going to live in Australia and I have no regard for anyone that puts their dogs down or gives them away when they leave. Owning a dog is a lifetime commitment; you don’t just give them away. I’m not talking about breakups and times when you just cant afford to keep them, or when you cant provide for them. I’m talking about having the conscious choice to emigrate, take furniture, children and money but leave your dogs behind because you don’t want the hassle, the costs or to have to pay more for a house with a yard. It’s horribly judgmental of me, but I make no apologies for how I feel. I honestly feel that we will be judged on how we treat animals (and our mothers, but that’s an entire blog on its own).

Anyway…I chose to bring all three of my fur children with me. The cost was not prohibitive, especially given the fact that there is no quarantine when coming into Canada. I booked them on the flight and then went through the agonizing process of reading up on the internet and calling the Pet Transport company constantly to ask questions about the containers, their food and water, the plane, the cabin pressure, the heat, the comfort, the delays, the layovers, the aeroplanes, the pilots and the staff. I even went so far as to email a friend, who is a pilot, to insist that they find the person flying the actual KLM planes and inform him exactly what kind of cargo he was about to carry and that if anything happened to them, I would FIND him (or her).

Petwings (who I think are absolutely fantastic) fetched the dogs last Monday afternoon from our soon to be ex-house in Parkhurst. Keith was hysterical. Dexter and Troy went quietly into their wooden crates, tail between the legs and lay down, dejected. Jessie was hysterical, screaming and throwing herself against the sides of the wooden crate. And off they went. Keith was about to fly himself, on a different airline and would be in the air when they landed. He wouldn’t know for about 10 hours if they were here safe or not.

I counted the hours, put a picture of them on my vision board, next to a picture of an aeroplane and tried not to think about it. I bought new collars, leads, food, bowls and treats (spending more on them than I did on the grocery shopping). At 4pm I made my way to the airport and went to KLM cargo. I walked in and announced that I was there to fetch my children just as Animal Services arrived to inspect them. I couldn’t see them, they didn’t know where the dogs were and all I had was a bunch of customs forms stating that 3 live animals needed to be inspected (damn straight they were 3 live animals). I was then told that I couldn’t see them until I went back to the main airport terminal and declared my import and paid my $42 customs duties. That took me an hour in the rush-hour traffic. By the time I got back to cargo the dogs had been inspected and deemed suitable for import and the three wooden crates were in eyes view. They were turned though so the dogs couldn’t see me but I could hear Dexter and Troy barking away, and Jessie chatting happily to anyone that walked past. Another South African family had arrived to fetch their two cats and they were just as anxious as me. Finally, after handing over my stamped forms, and paying another $60 I was allowed into the warehouse and boy did my babies go mad. I opened up the crates and they literally bounced right into the back of the car, lay down and went straight to sleep. We got home about an hour later and I took them for a nice long walk before introducing them to apartment life. All three are fast asleep at my feet. It’s like nothing happened and I would love to know exactly what they experienced on their journey. It’s pretty clear that they were treated exceptionally well, which is what I was promised. They flew for 11 hours from Johannesburg to Amsterdam, stayed at the animal hotel for 4 hours and then flew for 7 hours from Amsterdam to Toronto. They waited in customs for 3,5 hours before they got home. And they don’t seem to have been bothered at all. I have to pinch myself that they are actually here, in Canada. The squirrels fascinate Dexter, and they are all over the place. The other night I saw a raccoon and a skunk. I cant imagine what he would do if he saw that.

I am so privileged. I have International Dogs.

Tatooed

I have a tattoo on my arm that has been a work in progress. I think I had the first one done in about 2002. It was the same symbol that I later used as my company logo when I first went solo. It’s a design I came up with and I called it Jedex, after my two Boxers Jessie and Dexter. I had it infused with Reiki and consider it a good luck symbol. A few years later I decided to expand it slightly and Keith paid for it as a birthday present. We drew around it and filled my arm. I loved it. Last year I decided to do more, this time going up around my shoulder and down my arm so that the point of the tattoo peeks out the sleeve of a tee-shirt. My friends gave me money towards it as my birthday present. Jedex will always be the centre of the tattoo and the rest has been paid for by people I love, which means they are always with me (or on me?). I waited to have the tattoo extended because I knew I was due for a medical examination for Canada and they are strict. I didn’t want there to be any problems. And time passed, and before I knew it, it was time to leave South Africa. I finally went to the tattoo artist ten days before I was leaving, thinking that he could do the extension quickly. How wrong I was!

We drew the extension on a Saturday morning and the tattoo artist did the outline. Saturdays are really busy so he said I would have to come back to finish the rest. I thought that wasn’t a problem and tried to make an appointment for during the week. And then he said it…”you need 1 week for the outline to heal before I can continue”. “Nice”, I thought, “leave it till the very last minute”. I tried to convince him to finish it the following Friday, thinking that one day could not make that much of a difference but he wouldn’t budge. I had a friend’s 30th on the Saturday and I couldn’t miss it so I took the chance and make the appointment for the day before I was due to leave South Africa.

I arrived that morning at 9am and walked into a dark shop, a powerless shop, and one that would not have power for the rest of the day. My heart stopped. The tattoo outline had healed in three days; they could have finished it the previous week. Now I would be flying off to Canada with a tattoo and an outline and who knows when I would be able to have it finished, by someone I trusted. I called Keith in a panic and he suggested that he go down to the local tattoo artist in Parkhurst where we live and see if he could fit me in. The news was good, despite being fully booked for three weeks in advance; he had had a cancellation that morning and could see me at 3pm. I arrived in time, watched the boa constrictor for a while (all tattoo artists have boa’s in their parlours) and within half an hour the pen was happily buzzing against my skin. I was lucky that this artist had no problem finishing someone else’s work.

And then it happened. It happened half an hour into the tattoo, and with only half of the tattoo filled in…. the power went off! I could not believe what was happening to me.

It’s interesting, that the last straw for me in the decision to leave South Africa was the start of load shedding. It was one thing that I just could not handle. It was the thing that made up my mind. And it was the thing that bode me farewell.

We finished the tattoo the next morning and I flew off that night with a freshly tattooed arm, stinging all the way to Toronto.

What do you think?

Being Torontonian

I’m back in Toronto. I arrived on Friday night after a long, but uneventful trip home. I stopped to get something to eat, went to my apartment and crashed. We’ve rented a furnished apartment for a few months until we find something to buy. We’re in an area called The Annex. It’s in the heart of the University of Toronto complex, which forms part of the downtown area and spans hundreds of miles (ok maybe not hundreds, but it’s huge). Our building is small, only 5 apartments, on a leafy street and surrounded by parks and frat houses called “Si Phi Epsilom” and “Delta Omega Something or Other”. We have the entire top floor. There are two subway stations within walking distance, a 24-hour grocery store, dry cleaner and most importantly (according to Lisa), a Starbucks. It is these things that one should consider when determining where to live in Toronto, especially Starbucks (Venti, Extra-shot, Wet, Splenda-In, Cappucino please). We’re also 5 minutes away from the Shi-Shi Yorkville area and Whole Foods, Canada’s equivalent of Woolworths (on steroids). The interesting thing about Toronto is the variety. You can find anything you want, usually within walking distance and fifty options of it. You can have two streets right next to each other (ok I know, you can have that anywhere in the world). However, on one street stands $3mil dollar homes and on the other, low cost housing. The same applies to two sides of the street. It’s eclectic, vibrant and in many areas, gentrifying (a new word I learnt recently that is used to describe any up and coming area). There is a chill in the air as winter approaches and I’m realizing that soon the streets will be covered in snow and ice so the short walk to the subway station, or cabs on Bloor West, the main street a block away, will be welcomed.

I spent most of the weekend exploring. I spent Saturday in the heart of downtown. I could have been at Piccadilly Circus in London or Times Square in New York City. The place was buzzing with people, huge buildings covered with electronic signs that impose themselves upon you, and people walk, shuffle, sing, shout and hand out flyers. I took the subway and held tightly only my backpack, checking constantly that my wallet was still there.

I walked home last night, it was probably a 10km walk and I weaved in and out between the main roads and the smaller side streets. I stopped to get an ice cream a few blocks away from home. I was conscious of the fact that I kept on looking over my shoulder. There is a park near my apartment and as I approached I noticed a young woman, with headphones in her ears strolling through the park. So I though “if she can, so can I” and I made my way through the badly lit park towards home. The streets were quiet and clean. I could see into the houses because there are no fences, walls or gates. And I walked right up to my front door, just like they do on TV.

I spent Sunday on Queen West, a trendy street lined with shops and cafes. I was waiting for the traffic light to change when a lady pulled up next to me on a bicycle. She had her earphones in her ears (standard for Toronto), a helmet and her handbag and shopping were hanging off the back of a hook behind her seat. Anybody could walk up to her, lift the bags off and walk away. She wouldn’t hear a thing. And the great thing is…it probably wouldn’t happen here.

I’m sure it will take a while before I can walk around without looking over my shoulder. I’m sure it will take a while before I stop checking for my wallet, keys and phone every 10 – 15 minutes.

I don’t mind waiting.

Your flight is cancelled

Sometimes I really hate computers. I just wrote a whole new blog only to have it deleted because the hotel internet decided to send me a pop-up message reminding me that I am currently connected to the internet.

Thanks, I know.

Anyway, Im in Mumbai and not in Toronto where I should be. I was supposed to fly at 5:25am this morning and decided not to sleep last night so that I could sleep on the plane and try and get my body back onto Eastern time. I also didn't plan to eat on the plane - part of my avoidance of Indian food and associated Dehli Belly! I stayed up all night watching Heroes Season 2 on my laptop and was taken at 2am to the airport by the hotel driver. When we left the hotel he asked if I was in a hurry and I said no, so he informed me that we would take the relaxing drive. We made the 30km journey in under 15 minutes. I would love to know how long the rush drive takes.

I was the first person to arrive at the airport and was shown to the lounge. By 4am most of the passengers had arrived and at 5am we were told that there was a delay as the inbound aircraft could not land due to fog. The plane had therefore been diverted to Mumbai and would come in as soon as the weather cleared. And the stories went like this:

"The plane is due to arrive at 5:40"

"There is a slight delay, and the plane will come as soon as possible"

"We are waiting for more information"

"The plane has left Mumbai and will land in 20 minutes"

"The plane will leave Mumbai in 20 minutes"

"The flight will be here by 9 and it will take approximately 1 hour to turn it around and take off"

"The crew have exceeded their fly time and the flight has been cancelled"

Interestingly, none of the 36 affected passengers seemed to be too stressed about this. If this had happened in Johannesburg there would have been mayhem. I wasn't that phased, in fact I thought to myself "Hmmmmm, something to blog about". So we were all offered various options and everyone decided to fly to Mumbai as the outbound flights are more regular and there was less chance of this happening again tomorrow. We flew to Mumbai at 11:30 and after collecting our baggage were taken to the Hyatt where we were each given a room and some meal vouchers. By now I had not slept for over 24 hours, not counting the lack of sleep I have been experiencing anyway from all the travelling. So I took a hot shower, ordered a pizza (what are the chances of that making me sick?) and collapsed onto the very comfortable bed.

So I'm awake, slightly refreshed after 6 hours of sleep and a decent meal (the first in 4 days) and I'm waiting for someone to tell me if and when we will go back to the airport. I am booked on a flight at 3am tomorrow and then a connection to Toronto so I could be home by Friday night, only 1 day later than planned.

But who knows what will happen, I'll let you know where I am.

The adventure continues

I arrived at the airport in St. Petersburg on Sunday to be told that my flight to Frankfurt was delayed for three hours. This meant that I would never make my connection to India, and without a visa to get into Germany, also meant a 24 hour stay at the airport. Not a pleasant thought. Luckily I managed to get onto an earlier flight but they wouldn't check me in for my flight to India. We landed 45 minutes prior to my next departure and I rushed through security and from one terminal to the other, arriving at the gate 20 minutes prior and I wasn't turned away. And then I realised that I had left my book on the plane. I'm busy reading Shantaram. It's a fantastic book and gives you an incredible insight into India and every day life.

I arrived in Pune, or Poona, depending on who you ask, at 4am and found myself in a very quiet airport with only a handful of people milling about. This was not the India I expected. I had been warned about pickpockets and hordes of people that would welcome me. The drive to the hotel was uneventful and quiet and the hotel itself is neat. India is not unlike any African country, like Uganda, Kena or Tanzania. And I've spent a lot of time travelling through Africa.

India is magical, it has a charm to it and the people are kind and friendly. The traffic is fantastic, it amazes me how the cars, bikes, scooters and people maneuveur themselves around eachother with a sense of order that can only be understood by those that live here.

I've been a little over the top about the food. In Africa, or Thailand for that matter, I have never worried too much about getting sick but I have heard so many stories about India that I am being overly cautious. I brought a box of snack bars and have only eaten those since I arrived, and have had the sum of two cups of coffee. I keep on wanting to open the bottle of mineral water, or a sprite in the fridge but I'm just not prepared to suffer the consequences, especially with a 20 hour flight home ahead of me. It's a pity because I love spicy Indian food. I think next time I'll be more adventurous.

Unfortunately, as is always true of most of my business trips, I won't get much time to explore. So I think I'll just have to come back.

Total exhaustion

Russia is amazing. The people fascinate me, in the same room you have the most beautifully dressed woman right next to someone that looks like she lives in the 20s. The same holds true for the cars, new, old and "oh my god, that thing still goes?" all on the same street.

The Russians have a fantastic tradition. At dinner you toast, constantly. Each time you do this over a shot of vodka and you have to drink the entire glass. So a meal lasts for hours, and comprises countless toasts to whatever or whomever you like. There are two rules, the third toast is always to the women, and one other, I think the seventh, to people that are not with you; be it friends, colleagues or family.

I'm used to presenting, I do it all the time. What I'm not used to, is presenting to a group of people that don't speak English and require the services of a translator. Part of me felt like I was addressing the security council of the UN. But then I'd need an interesting name like Hanky Cheescake. So I've spent most of the day with earphones on or off my head and a mic clasped in my hand in an attempt to speak very very very s l o w l y, listening at the same time to the interpreters to make sure they are keeping up with me, or me with them.

And now it's time to go to dinner, to drink and toast.

Wish you were here.

Not even a week gone, and Im outta here

Ok Im not really leaving.....my first week in Toronto has been fantastic. Im still wearing a tee-shirt in the mornings when I go down to Starbucks for my non-pretentious Cappucino. Lisa has informed me that in order to become pretentious, I need to order a Venti, Low-fat, Splenda-in, Extra shot espresso, Wet, Cappucino, to go.

But I do have to leave. Im going to Russia tonight for a few days and then to India. We have a big project start-up meeting in Saint Petersburg this weekend and then I am visiting our office in Pune, India.

I am coming back though - next Thursday and the good thing about this is that it makes the wait for Keith and the dogs that much shorter. We webcammed today and I spoke to the dogs, Troy watched me on the screen and Jessie just knocked the webcam over!

Ill be in touch

First visit to the ER

I got bitten by a dog yesterday. Nothing too serious and it wasn't her fault. We were having coffee in Yorkville and she got a little freaked when her dad went inside and she pulled out of her collar and ran off. I was so worried she would get hurt and ran after her into the traffic which had luckily stopped for a red light. I grabbed her, trying to stop her and she obviously thought I was going to hurt her and bit me. Then she ran off again. She was hiding behind a car when I got to her and a lady stood with her while I fetched her dad. Then I noticed that my hand was bleeding.

So off we went to find a medical centre. The one I ended up at was closed so I took the subway to the nearest hospital and presented myself at the ER. I got signed in and then started the wait. It wasn't too bad, the hospital was clean, people were friendly and nobody asked me if I had insurance or where I was from. They just put me in line to treat me. First I saw a nurse who gave me a tetanus shot and cleaned up my hand. The a doctor who gave me some anti-biotics. Four hours later I was home.

I have a green hospital card from St. Michaels. Im in the system now.

Getting settled

So yesterday was my first day in Toronto, and there were things that I needed to do. A few months ago, my friend Daniel gave me the name of someone at the bank. Till now, everyone has told me how difficult it is to get credit in a new country and that nobody would give me access to a line of credit and that it would take my a year before anyone started looking at me seriously. So I thought I would be proactive and I emailed the guy at the bank. And so we started the process of me sending him paperwork, and him asking me questions. When I told him I was coming he asked me to come to the bank and met with him.

I went out for dinner last night and everyone laughed when I told them which branch I schlepped to. They said that between my home and the branch, there were probably a thousand other branches that I could have visited. Here's why. I arrived a little early and walked into a small branch of the Royal Bank of Canada in a suburban street north of downtown Toronto. There were no glass partitions, security doors or guards like there are in South Africa. A lady came up to me to ask if she could help and I told her who I was. It was like something out of a movie, the next thing the bank manager was grinning at me and shaking my hand, introducing me to everyone who walked past, offering me coffee and something to eat and telling me all about his family and which clients at the bank also work in the medical field. I went from office to office and slowly met everyone. At the end of my three hour visit I had an unsecured credit card, a personal checking acccount, cheques, a debit card, a pre-approved mortgage and a personal and business banker. The bank manager then called me a cab and escorted me outside. I guess it helped to email ahead.

I then went downtown to the Canada Service Centre to apply for a social insurance number (SIN). It took me all of 15 minutes. Next was a cellphone and a local number and voila, I'm part of a city that works.

Now all I need is for Keith and the dogs to arrive.

Time to seriously blog

I left South Africa last night. For over 8 years I have talked about leaving South Africa and going to live in Canada. Once I got close, but mostly it's just been talk and my friends know that. Until now. I surprised even myself.

I left South Africa last night. The last few weeks have been a roller coaster ride of emotions. I never expected how much goes into closing up a 34,75 year old life, and attempting to start another one. The internet is an amazing resource, how did people do it before? How did they know to apply for confirmation of driver's license without the 100-point list on sacanada.org? Saying goodbye was harder than I ever thought.

I left South Africa last night. Before I left I decided to extend the tattoo on my arm. Trust Lawrence to do it at the last minute. It's not like I didn't have four lists, categorised, and incomplete. I had to get another tattoo. When I arrived at the artist on Tuesday morning to fill in the areas that had been outlined there was no power! So I went to another artist and asked him to do the job and he agreed. Halfway through the power went out. Luckily I had half a day left and we finished the tattoo. How appropriate that it was load-shedding that first had me make my mind up, and load-shedding that left a last impression on me.

I left South Africa last night. I lay awake on the plane wondering if this really is the right thing to do. It is better to leave, for all the reasons that I am leaving, or to stay? Is it worth being so far away from the people that you love, really love?

I'll let you know in a little while.

I live in Canada now.

Surfing the timeline

....is something that I can only describe as a mind fuck. There is no other way to tell you what it does to me. Life goes so fast when you pass a certain point, I think somewhere after 25, that the next thing you realise is that you are now where your parents were when you were a kid. That’s the thing that gets me; the fact that life moves like a conveyer belt. I just can’t get my head around it. I see myself in my career and my interactions with my staff and realise that I am where my boss was when I started out in this industry. I don't go to clubs anymore because I am the person that I laughed at when I was drunk, high and bouncing off the walls. Damn, I was cool. One day I will be where my grandfather was when I was in my teens. Yet all the time I don’t feel that progression in my head. In 5 years time I am going to be 40 and the closer I get to it, the more I realise how young it really is. So is 60, and 70. I often wonder if the difference between me and many of my friends is that they have children and maybe that is what changes your focus. I’m sure it is. So how then, do I, as a childless person (which may or may not change) deal with the fact that I am no longer one. I guess it's not a bad thing to wonder about. I'll let you know if I find any answers. In the meantime, I 'll surf the timeline.....hopefully for a while.

No words needed

Sea lawrence dive

Sea lawrence and keith pose

Sea lawrence play with keith

Sea turtle

Sea shark

Sea shark watch lawrence, keith and friends

Sea Dory, looking for Nemo

Sea dolphins

No words needed

Two Boxers and a Golden Retriever

These are our children. I do not currently have human ones of my own making and maybe someday I will but in my mind and my heart, I am just as fortunate for these three and they are no different to your human ones. To say I am obsessed with animals, dogs in particular, is somewhat of an understatement. I often say I prefer them to people.

Dexter is our oldest Boxer, he is a Saggitarian like me and turns 7 at the end of this year. He is big, and noisy, and boisterous but he is a gentle giant. If he could he would sleep on your lap. He insists on having some part of his body touching yours at all times and must sleep under a duvet in winter. I shudder to think at how he will react to the snow in Toronto but I laugh at people when they ask me if we are taking the dogs with. Of course we are, are you taking your kids?

Jessie (Jessica Anne, when naughty), is our chatty kathy. She mumbles, and groans, and whines constantly for no reason. She is a typical Libra, can't make up her bloody mind! Jessie was diagnosed with a form of canine cancer last year and went through 7 weeks of surgery and radiation treatment. She is absolutely fine now and has a hairless patch of skin on her chest as a gentle reminder. I honestly believe that she took on some form of energy, be it our stress or as protection from something happening and I thank her every day for that. Jessie is 5.

Troy is our baby. He is the gentlest dog that you will ever meet. I've grown up with Boxers so am used to their energy and expect all dogs to be the same. Sometimes I look at him and I wonder if he is truly canine or if there is a human trapped inside there. He amazes and amuses me. Troy is a Virgo. He is 3.

We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.

~George Eliot

Exercising my option

I've really had it. This morning I got a call from someone that works for me, an hysterical call because she and her husband had just been held up, beaten up, and he had been shot. What was she screaming at me about? The fact that her laptop and some confidential work documents had been stolen. Naturally I told her to forget about the work stuff and asked if they were ok. For all intents and purpose they are and that means "thank god you weren't killed". This is what we do, we thank god for allowing this bullshit to continue to happen, as long as we are not killed. There are hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of stories just like this one, but I'm going to tell it anyway...

The couple were at home on a public holiday. She was hanging up the washing and he was somewhere in the front of the house. Their baby was at her parents and her car was parked outside; his had been stolen a month previously (but luckily nobody was killed). She looked up and saw her husband walking towards her, one man on either side of him and a gun at his neck. He told her to "just get down" and he lay on top of her whilst they screamed, kicked, hit and demanded money and valuables. The youngest of them kept on saying "can I kill them?, can I kill them?" but an older one told him no. When they were finally done the youngest one could not hold it in anymore and fired a single shot. She felt her husband go limp on top of her and she rolled him over. The bullet had gone through his shoulder and exited, narrowly missing her head. He told her to push the panic button and that's when she saw all the blood. The police and armed response were there within minutes, the ambulance took their time. The robbers got away with two cellphones and a laptop. They would have killed for much less.

I don't begrudge the people that choose to stay here, I worry about the ones that have no choice. I still read all the overly positive emails and reports that get sent around like chain letters telling us why it isn't so bad and almost berating the people for their negativity or for wanting to leave. I sign the petitions to the President, but I know that they are never going to make any difference. I have been to more funerals than most people, I have listened to the stories and YES, IT IS THAT BAD. The good stuff is just not good enough anymore. I have been told that I am overly-emotional, but dammit I have the right to be. The crime rate and the lack of concern about the country's failing infrastructure is not acceptable. It just isn't.

I no longer have any desire to enjoy the things about this country that are good, and there are a lot of those. It is incredibly painful to see how much damage can be done and how little regard there is for life. It's not even a white thing anymore because just as many black people are subjected to this kind of violence.

Each day I ask that we make it through the next few months without becoming a statistic, so that we can get the hell out of here. And at the moment, I don't ever wish to come back.

I choose to opt out and leave. Please don't hold it against me.

Reflections

I have been wracking my brain for something witty, and enlightening to write. I've started a few times and then given up because to be honest, all that I hear about, and talk about at the moment, is the terrible state of the country we live in and our impending move from South Africa. But here's the thing. I don't want to talk about that. I'm not joking when I say it's all we discuss and it's tiring. At some point I am sure I will rave on about it so I still reserve the right but for now I have something much more fun!

It rained this weekend, non-stop, and it's still raining. I'm getting used to the idea of living indoors (read...Canada) and Dexter, my very large but very wimpy Boxer is going to have to give in at some point and go outside. He point blank refuses to put a toe on anything that has dropped below a certain temperature or seen the likes of a drop of water. The poor thing hovers like a ballerina a few centimetres above the ground when he has no option but to go out and do his business. Last night he refused to go to sleep until he had been totally wrapped up in a duvet.

Anyway, I decided to lie on the couch with a cup of hot coffee and read some of my old school magazines, the ones that they put out at the end of each year. I came upon some of my writing that had been published. Damn....I was a miserable soul, you should read the depressing shit I wrote. But there was one piece that made me giggle and here it is.....

"To Pee or not to Pee"

To pee or not to pee, - that is the question:
Whether 'tis problems of the bladder to suffer
Or the pain of stones of the kidneys,
Or maybe to take help from a group of Urologists,
Who by treating pains end them? - To sleep, to suffer,
No more, and by a sleep to say we end
The pain and the thousand natural ills
That flesh is heir to 'tis a Cystocsopy
Devoutly to be wish'd. To end - to sleep;
To sleep! perchance to dream; ay, there's the doctor
For in that sleep of anaesthesia what dreams may come.
When with his sharp knife an incision he makes,
Must let him look: there's the stone
That for so long did block the pipe;
And who could've bore the pain and anguish or obstruction?
The surgeon's deftness the stone's release,
The pangs of despised surgery - my worries ended,
The fair surgeon! - Genuis in all your incisions
Be all your operations remember'd!

Std 9 (Grade 11)

P.S. Mother is home, well and high as a kite. Go mania!!

Things Fall Apart

My mother has never really recovered from my dad's death. He had a major heart attack on 1st Dec 1985 whilst my sister and I were doing grocery shopping with him. He died instantly. My sister was 11, it was 2 days after my 12th birthday. I don't remember much about our life before that and afterwards my mother cycled between bouts of mania and depression. It was only much later that she was diagnosed as bipolar, and after she had had brain surgery for a malformation of blood vessels in her brain.

I have strong thoughts about life, about the responsibility we take for ourselves and about the personal growth that each one of us has the option to achieve, or deny. I believe my mother never really took advantage of the opportunities presented to her and to this day has always blamed her life on "circumstance" (her own word) rather than take responsibility for herself. Because of this she has not worked for many years, relies on my sister and I for emotional and financial support and does nothing more than spend her days in her apartment reading, listening to the radio and talking to her pet cockatiel. She says she would love to work again but I really don't believe that.

My mother also self-medicates and hops from doctor to doctor having prescriptions filled and listening only to those doctors that agree with her. Last year she took too many pills one day and we had to deal with major aggressive behavior and abusive words for almost two months. Then she landed in the depths of a depression. For months she was ok and then this week she lapsed again. When I arrived at her apartment yesterday she was almost incoherent, delusional, hallucinating, burning herself with cigarettes yet telling me she had not smoked for 14 years. She had emptied out all the cupboards and drawers and put all the food from the fridge under her mattress. It took three people and 3 amps of valium to mildy sedate her (she is incredibly drug tolerant after years and years of self-medication).

She has been hospitilised and is sedated, still confused and we wait to see if she will return to normal. She should, this is most likely due to the fact that she convinced a doctor to change her anti-depressants to one that you should never give a bipolar sufferer.

Each time this happens I get angry, and I detach. And then I get upset and I worry. And I wonder if she will be like this permanently, and then I swear that the next time it happens that I wont be there to rescue her.

But I always do.

Intro

When I was younger, my boyfriend at the time and I used to joke with another friend about one day writing a book. We planned on calling it "Other People's Lives". Soon after that other people starting writing about their own lives. I've always been intrigued by blogging but I really didn't think that anyone would be interested in my life and although the intentions were there, I never actually sat down and wrote anything on paper. Last night Jodi and I went to visit our friend Dianne and she showed us her blog. On the way home we spoke about Jodi's journals that she has kept since she was 13. I think that's amazing. I can barely remember what happened last week, never mind 10 years ago (no, Im not 23 anymore...) so imagine being able to read back and reflect on how you thought and acted then. Recently Jodi posted a photo of us at school on Facebook. We are with a bunch of friends in a jacuzzi and neither of us have any idea whose home that jacuzzi belonged to.I'm leaving South Africa soon (with my boyfriend Keith and Dexter, Jessie and Troy, our 3 dogs) to start a new adventure in Canada and this may just be the way that the people whom I love and adore share our experience with us. So this is (hopefully) the start of my journal. Someone may find it interesting, maybe nobody will read it but one day I'd like to read back and remember how I thought and acted then.