I
consider myself lucky that I look back on my childhood and smile; a lot of people
don’t. I loved high school and I don’t ever recall it being bad. There were
occasional moments that one could today call bullying but it was part of
growing up, and though I personally feel the term is possibly over-used today
it was a different world. If we were naughty we were sent to the Principal’s
office for “6 of the best” and despite it, I am no worse off, having proudly
showed off the welts to my friends. Our parents didn’t ask us how we felt, or
reason with us in the permissive way that I’ve seen kids treated today; we were
told in no uncertain terms the how and the what; we grew up in the remnants of
a “kids should be seen and not heard” environment mixed with “find out who you
are”. In a recent heated discussion with friends I found myself saying “wait
till you are 40” and “life was simpler in my day” and I believe it. I also said
“you will say the same thing when you get to my age”. No doubt my mother said
that same thing at some point in her life.
When
you get to my age you have a 40-year history of friendships (I know, it’s an
obvious fact). These include people that I have known since the start; many
that I met along the way and some that are relatively new (again, not that much
different to anyone else). They all bring some kind of meaning to my life. They
are all vitally important to me because I am a social soul.
The
nature of us being South African is that many of us are spread out across the
globe. Many local Torontonian friends I have today still hang out with people
they met at school or University. I remember feeling a pang of jealousy one day
when a friend said that he had spent the day with people he had known for 15
years. The nice thing about technology today is that email, texts and Facebook
help to make people feel closer and we likely know more about each others day
now than we did when growing up, albeit our lives are probably not as exciting
as Facebook makes them out to be.
I’m
at a medical conference in San Francisco and yesterday I spent a few hours with
a high school friend I first met in 1988. The cliché applied; I got into her car at the
airport and it was like we had seen each other yesterday rather than the god-knows-how-many-years since we last hugged in person. She hasn’t changed much, and hearing that
familiar laugh from so long ago instantly made me feel at home. We polished off
a bottle of white, ate delicious food and we laughed the guttural loud kind
that makes people at nearby tables look up. We reminisced, remembered moments
we had forgotten, told each other secrets, I admitted the school crush and she
ruined one of my fantasies.
Life
moves fast, things happen, days pass, we get wrapped up in what we do. We
forget. That’s normal. But we also remember, when these short moments come
around, and they fill me with such warmth, they renew my soul, and they feel so
goddamn good. Thanks for taking the time
out of a busy day, from errands and chores and 4 children.Thanks for sitting in the sun with me. I’ll
be back for more.
I am two years older than my mother was when she lost my father. At 13 I gave no thought to what 40 felt like though no doubt I must have thought it quite old. I am sure that my mother felt younger than she was and had the same types of conversations then as I do today with my peers. The time has flown, my friends have teenage children and while a small part of me mourns my youth that flew by, I have thoroughly enjoyed the gentle transition out of my 30s. The last decade was hard in many ways, yet rewarding in so many others. If I live to 80 then I am only halfway there however my sister was halfway there at 16 so the truth is we never know. And that's why I am happy to be where I am, know who I am, in the best shape I've been in years, able to look back with no regret and fervently hope that I age as well as Joan Rivers.
Hearing that Madiba had died was no great surprise, we knew it was inevitable. At 95, he accomplished so much more than most of us, suffered hardships we will never endure and despite spending the better part of his adult years incarcerated lived a lifetime after his release from jail. For a moment I wished I was back in South Africa to be a part of the rainbow nation and I read and watch as much as I can with interest; noting comments for and against him, predictions of change in South Africa versus the fear of the mythical Uhuru and the international commentary on who shook hands with who and where the fake interpreter came from. I am proud to have actively lived his freedom, I knew a South Africa pre-end-of-apartheid and I lived the one post. I watched his release from prison and stood outside the Union Buildings at his inauguration. I was fortunate enough to have met him. He was taller than you would expect. He was quiet-spoken. He was legendary. But I also fled the South Africa he created, and that is the only part I hold against him; though blaming him is akin to blaming an apple for rotting in the sun (as quoted by a friend).
I wrote my Canadian Citizenship Test last week. I studied hard and actually enjoyed learning the history of the country I now call home, figuring out how the economy and government works and achieving a score of 100% - set high the previous week by Keith. I have always loved this country and this is the inevitable conclusion of a 20 year old dream. South Africa will always be the land of my birth; nobody will ever truly understand Africa unless you have lived it; but I am Canadian. I am proud to be legally part of a country that works, where I feel my taxes do something; where I feel free and safe and where in comparison the government and people are free of the ailments I was so frustrated by in South Africa.
But best of all, where I live, all you need to do to become the next Mayor is not smoke crack.
Jessie was born on one of my saddest days, helped chosen by my friend Cherise, and came home to me and Dexter at 12 weeks old with a serious case of attitude that would continue throughout much of her life.
During one of her naughty moments, and there were many, I screamed out JESSICA! to which my sister, who lived with me at the time, added ANN! And so it was, that she came to be known as Jessica-Ann (Joo-Joo-Bell) Reiter Pfeiffer.
Boxers tend to get lots of lumps and bumps and are prone to Cancer and so each time something popped up on either her or Dexter, we would run off to the vet to check it out. Most of the time they were benign but at around 5 years old I got a call to say that she had a Grade 2 Mast Cell Tumour on her chest. I was devastated and immediately Googled this only to be told by a series of online experts that my baby would probably not last another 7 months. Jessie had two surgeries to remove the tumor and surrounding tissue but they could not get clean margins i.e. there were still cancerous cells in the tissue. I did some research and found a Vet that specialised in animal Oncology and after an interview and assessment we were invited to join the secret programme. Once a week for about 15 weeks we would park in the lot outside the Park Lane Clinic in Johannesburg, hiding in the car and watching the side blue door of the hospital for movement. As soon as we saw the light go on and the door open, people with dogs and cats would run from their dark cars across the lot, through the doorway and down a flight of stairs to the Radiation Oncology Unit where Dr. Crewe would be waiting, needles in hand, to immediately sedate all pets upon arrival. You see, while the hospital administration were well aware of what was going on in the basement, the patients were not. And all measures had to be taken to avoid anyone finding out and complaining because we would then be kicked out. Once sedated, each patient would go through their individual radiation routine and then be woken up. As soon as they were able to stand on their own we would be whisked up the stairs and out the door with a "I'll let you know when the next session is" farewell. A few people would stay behind to scrub the walls, the radiation machines and clean the floors so that in the morning no human patient would be any the wiser as to the nocturnal goings on. Jessie ended up with a hairless patch on her chest from the radiation, and for the next 6 years I would send an annual follow-up to Dr. Crewe letting her know that the 7-month prognosis had far been exceeded.
Jessie always had her tongue out, during the hot and humid Toronto summers she would walk around with the tongue getting longer and longer until it almost dragged on the sidewalk, resulting in people literally stopping to ask if something was wrong with her!
Jessie believed that anything the other dogs had actually belonged to her. She would walk around the house gathering up balls and toys and guarding them; not necessarily even wanting to play. Keith was always convinced that these tortured her because she would lie on the floor, with two balls, or two bones in her mouth, whining incessantly.
She loved Dexter. Every morning when she woke up she would walk over to him and lick him, clean his eyes and wake the rest of us up for a walk.
She loved Troy. When she first met him as a pup she looked at him, walked over and pushed him to the ground. She was a no-nonsense, dominant kinda gal.
But she liked to lie on her back.
A few weeks ago Jessie suddenly wasn't herself. Up until then she had been in great shape. Tests revealed that she had a Cancer that required the removal of her spleen and half her liver. She seemed to recover unbelievable well and despite us deciding not to put her through any treatment, was given around 3 - 4 months during which time we promised her any treats she wanted and days filled with love. I think she knew what was coming and rather than force us to make the decision on when to let her go decided to do it on her terms, Jessica-Ann style. She died in her sleep 5 days later, at home, with all of us sitting by her side. Sarah Silverman recently lost her dog Duck and wrote a beautiful tribute to him. In it she said "I picked him up and his body was limp - you don't think about the head - it just falls". When Dexter died, it was a surprising, unfamiliar feeling. When I picked up Jessie to take her to the vet, it felt almost comforting. We let Troy and Tyson say a gentle goodbye.
I wish that I could upload every photo and video of her because each one is touching and beautiful. Sitting here looking through them makes me laugh and smile, and though we miss her terribly we are blessed for a life almost 11 years long. Below is a short video montage; her best bits. She was a fierce girl, our Chatty-Cathy, she loved having her ears rubbed and snuggling with Keith in bed, she bounced when she ran and she always attacked the vacuum cleaner. She hated wearing boots, but she hated the salt even more. When Tyson joined us she immediately took on the maternal role. She was the last of her line and we will never forget her.
"When a friend passes on, they take a little piece of you along with them for their journey...."
Scott Feschuk recently wrote this in an edition of Macleans: "I am saddened to announce that my New Year's resolutions, which imbued me with a sense of optimism and gave me hope that I could become a better human being, have died. They were less than a month old. They passed away quietly after a brief struggle with reality".
I loved that. It's the reason why I do not make New Year's resolutions. But I do believe in change.
We visited South Africa in December/January and it was a trip filled with great moments and not-so-great moments. Highlights included Christmas/Birthday Celebration with the family, the Game Reserve, great South African food, and seeing the country of my birth through the eyes of Canadian friends. The low-lights aren't worth mentioning however an interesting experience was noticing how, after almost 5 years, friendships have changed. People I expected to smother me with attention didn't, and people who I didn't expect to see at all, smothered me. It was not a low-light, it was a realization and that's OK. I returned home, to a place I love, filled with friends and experiences I would never have had, had we not taken the giant leap. I'm a lucky guy.
This year I will be 40 and I am excited to enter that decade of my life though I often struggle just with the concept that I have reached this age, be it middle, just approaching, or past - it's older than I often feel. When I woke up on my 39th birthday I said to Keith "I wish I was 40", he said "me too".
A friend and I have set ourselves a personal 60 day challenge. This is my New Year's resolution and we have set ourselves some goals that we will motivate each other to meet. This morning I decided that one of those is to remove myself from Facebook for that period. I tried a few months ago to get away from technology and speak more to people rather than communicate only through text or online but it didn't work and I quickly understood that this is the way of the world. Heaven forbid I become someone who speaks about how things were in my day...
Having said that, I log on to Facebook too often, and spend a ridiculous amount of wasted time seeing who checked in where (some of my friends insist on checking in to every place they pass on a daily basis), reading shared pictures, statements and bright-light ideas, learning about everyone's opinion (and I often wonder why you have to put that as a status - how about actually telling the person about whom you are opining directly) and my personal pet peeve; being subjected to someone's cause (I respect that you have something you now believe in but please stop shoving it down my throat). I've removed the app from my phone, along with many others so that I am no longer someone who constantly checks the (I love my) iPhone at a dinner party, coffee or gathering in the hopes that my phone is not broken and has received that exceptionally urgent message, status update or email.
I would love to catch up with someone and actually hear some news that I didn't already know from Facebook. And I think I need to read more magazines. And maybe blog more. So I downloaded a copy of my Facebook data, transfer my birthdays to my iCal (because I still want to wish you a Happy Birthday) and will decide if I want to suspend my account or just remain silent (because no doubt I will be back and I may need to log in and check something!). In doing my "how do I" research I learnt that if one has ever "logged in using Facebook", that if one uses that application, it will automatically re-activate a suspended account and then your friends think you couldn't go the distance and stay away. Facebook is not that easy to get rid of!
So I'm almost there. But then to my horror, I realized a fate worse than forgetting someone's birthday. I won't be able to check in to the Fran Lebowitz show next week, nobody will be able to comment on my beautifully worded memory status on the 4th anniversary of my sister's passing, and I won't be able to like your comment or comment on your comment. In essence, I won't be getting any attention and neither will you. Wonder how that's gonna work out for us?
If you are reading this, then I pray it's not on Facebook because that means that Networked Blogs has re-activated my previously (very recently.....or maybe not yet enforced) inactive Facebook account. If you are reading this I pray it's on Twitter (because I can't remove myself from every social networking site available to man), or because you are one of my precious 12 email subscribers.
Everyone else on my Facebook friend's list will be none the wiser, may not notice, and will comment on my return, when I return that I've been quiet.
As they say about the uninterrupted vinyl record; "catch you on the flip side"
Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened - Anatole France
In February 2002, a little guy called Dexter came into my life. I grew up with Boxers and always wanted another one but University living and then working my way into a career wasn't very conducive to having a pet. Finally I had a home and a big enough garden and decided it was time for my very own Boxer. Little did I know the bond that would be formed with him.
It's amazing how quickly time flies and how much you forget. I guess that living in the moment (a good thing) means that you don't necessarily need to dwell on the past so it is only now, that Dexter is gone, that I find myself consumed by memories and in going through the thousands of photos and videos I have of him I realize how much I had forgotten.
Dexter, a brindle Boxer (whose registered name was actually Royce Ambach's Aleksii) came from the Tanyati line of Boxers, who are still being bred today. One look at any of the Tanyati Boxers and the resemblance is immediate. He was named after the main cartoon character from Dexter's Lab because he was a quirky little guy, with an active imagination, boundless energy and a happy face. The name was quite appropriate. Anybody who knows Boxers understand their boundless energy and a constant need to lick everything. You would often find Dexter standing beside me happily licking my jeans without a care in the world nor any intention of stopping. I constantly walked around the house with a huge wet patch on my pants due to excessive Boxer love.
In the beginning, life for Dexter was much like that of any dog in South Africa. In the mornings I put him and his sister Jessie (another Boxer who joined us a year after Dexter) outside and I went to work. The two of them had the run of the garden and a very large water bowl (we call it a swimming pool) during the day and when I went out at night. I taught them to sit on the step at the front door when I was driving into or out of the driveway until the gate had closed and they were very good at that. After a while, the sound of the gate opening would result in two Boxers sitting patiently on the front step. At night though, they would both sleep indoors and Dexter would climb under the duvet with me and curl up against my legs. Once fully grown he was a big boy and I am not ashamed to say that there were times that we spooned. Dexter loved being warm and his favorite thing would be to curl up and be covered with a blanket or fully stretched out on the couch.
A few months later I moved into a house that had a cottage on the property and my sister and her husband moved in. For a few years my mom stayed with us too. Later, I would work from home and still do today. This meant, that from a young age, our dogs were hardly ever left alone for more than a few hours; they always had some form of human company at home with them. And we were, for the better part of every day, with them.
In 2004 I met Keith and with him came Troy, our Golden Retriever. That completed the family. And that's how it's been ever since.
In 2008 Dexter hurt his back leg and couldn't put any pressure on it. He had torn a cruciate ligament in his knee which is common in dogs and needed surgery to repair it. This involved breaking the leg, inserting a metal plate and screws and months of restricted movement and care. He healed well, just in time to make the trip from South Africa to Canada to his new home. Dexter loved living in Canada, there was lots of snow, squirrels and great long walks that we didn't typically do in South Africa.
Keith even taught him to walk off-leash, as long as he carried it himself.
Because of the pressure he had put on his good leg while the affected one healed, the second cruciate tore in 2010. this is also pretty common and Dexter had a second surgery to repair the other leg. Again he healed well but he was always plagued with arthritis that didn't particularly seem to bother him especially when a squirrel was in sight.
About a month ago Dexter starting exhibiting strange symptoms, circling, tilting his head, vomiting, and we took him to the vet who thought he had a vestibular syndrome which is like a middle ear infection. When that didn't get better we did blood tests and found that his thyroid was very low which seemed to explain all the symptoms. After two weeks of thyroid treatment he was no better. By this time Dexter was struggling to stand up or walk, he would spend most of his day lying in his bed next to me or on the floor, I would help him walk or carry him and at night I would sleep on the floor next to him so that when he tried to move and couldn't, I was there to help him. Through all of this he kept his happy face, wagging his tail when I walked into the room, eating as though there were no tomorrow and always licking my hand or the bed. In my mind, he would get better so that we could explore stem cell therapy that I wanted to do on his arthritic legs. Last Friday morning we woke up early and I carried him outside and then back in again. I knew that when I took him to see the vet that morning that he wouldn't come home and I sobbed as he snored in my lap. I took a video of him sleeping so that I would never forget that beautiful sound. We took him to see the neurologist who did a bunch of tests and said that it was most likely that Dexter had a brain tumor that was causing the symptoms and that we were suddenly catapulted into a moment when a "decision" needed to be made. Nobody ever wants to hear those words; how the hell do you just decide? There was no way that I could let him go without knowing for sure if the problem was benign and treatable so we scheduled an MRI for the next day.
On Saturday morning we fetched Dexter from the vet. We had left him there because he was getting dehydrated. He had had a good night, and stood up on his own to go out. We drove to the MRI centre and were early so we walked on the grass and lay beside each other for a while. He seemed better, he was still struggling with his legs but he was walking. Keith and I gave him lots of love and he happily licked my hand. The MRI took about an hour and images were sent via email to the neurologist who called me to confirm the diagnosis. My little boy, my best friend, my dester-malester had a tumour that was pressing down on his brain and spinal cord. The thing I feared the most was right in front of me. I knew that to wake him up would be for me, to subject him to surgery or treatment would be so that I could have him next to me just a little longer, doing nothing would mean a quick progression that could include pain and suffering. So the choice we made was for him. We let him go, and we sobbed as we stood next to him rubbing his tummy and stroking his beautiful, soft face as we said goodbye.
The devastation I feel right now can only be described as big as the love I felt for Dexter. He was my shadow, he went where I went. He was outside the shower door when I climbed out, he got up when I did, and 40kg of Dexter slept curled up on my lap every night in front of the television. There are no words to describe the loss that I feel without his immense presence. He was a big dog, a gentle giant with an incredible soul.
In my moments of grief I have beat myself up about my decision, but I know that I did the right thing and that this guilt stems only from the fact that I desperately miss him and want him to still be here. But that would mean that he would be here without the ability to walk around freely or go outside. He would be here for my company only and that is not why we share our lives with our animals. In a way, the fact that he was already asleep is probably a blessing, rather than have to wait for the day, or decide which one, to take him back to the vet.
Though it's only been a few days I am starting to feel better. I know deep down inside that everything is OK and the way it's mean to be.
There will never be another Dexter, but there will be others. I could not imagine my life without a (Boxer) dog in it.
There is a video on my Facebook page that embodies all that Dexter was.
Take a moment to watch it, make sure you see the end, it's worth
it.
Dexter
I thank you for 10 and a half years of unwavering love, slobbery kisses, comfort in hard times, a pillow on the hard floor, excitement when I got home, someone to miss when I was away and a million things more. A part of me died when you died but that's OK, because that part was always yours. I will never be the same; I am better for having you.
My high school teacher once made us write down our predictions for the coming year on a piece of paper and then held on to it until the next year when we could review them to see how close we were to the truth. I carried on doing that for a number of years, I would seal them in an envelope on Dec 31st and then as technology developed would password-protect a file on my hard drive. I realized last night that I hadn't done that in a while; I guess it wasn't really that important to know what the year was going to bring.
2011, like most of my years, has been challenging and life-altering. We brought in the New Year with an amazing group of friends, the same ones we traveled to Mexico with in May to witness a beautiful wedding, friends who rushed to the hospital when I needed them, who we ate with, laughed with, shared Christmas with and who we will see out the year with. Full circle.
If it were up to me, that circle would include a lot more people all over the world. Whilst a part of me blames South Africa for splitting us up, I am so grateful for the opportunity we have had to live in this amazing country and the ability to expand the family of friends that I would never have met, had we not decided to leave.
Keith had a stroke in June. It burst the bubble I was living in and woke me up to some very necessary changes. While watching one of Anderson Cooper's shows, I identified strongly with him when during an interview with his mother he said that his life is defined by loss. The idea that I could lose Keith was devastating, not that it should have been any surprise, yet it once again woke me up to the fact that nothing lasts forever; a lesson one would have thought I had fully learned already. Coupled with the realization that this included my dogs sent me spiraling. If I am every in doubt about anything, there is one single person that I know will set me straight and I turned to her immediately. She told me that a health crisis is a call for transformation and I should heed that call. So I did.
I quit my job this year. It was a very hard decision. It was the easiest decision. It was the right decision.
The world continues to change and yet I still believe that it is exactly the way it's meant to be.
Here's to all of my friends and family, for liking my Facebook posts, for reading my Tweets and my Blog, for keeping in contact via email, sms and skype, for listening to me, laughing with me, crying with me, for irritating me, for loving me. Here's to Keith, who keeps me content and sane, and to my three fur children who love me as unconditionally as it should be.
I haven't blogged for a while, mainly for two reasons. The first is that Google and Blogger and god knows who else merged and mixed and changed and for the longest time I just couldn't get into my blog to edit it! I also lost my list of subscribers (all 11 of you) and for a moment I lost interest. I joined Twitter, I'm on Facebook, everyone kinda knows what's going on most of the time anyway!
Last night I went to a meeting out near the airport. I took a bus to the subway station after the meeting and at one of the stops, a young woman got on with her dog. She was warmly dressed, her dog had a tee-shirt on, she was holding a book that she was in the middle of reading, a water bottle and a piece of cardboard. I watched her chatting to the bus driver and looked at the dog who was obviously very comfortable on the very noisy and bumpy bus. They both got off at the subway station and we went underground, everyone boarding the train downtown. Woman and her dog walked to a bench and sat down. She gave him/her some water and she opened up her book. I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed her and it didn't seem like it. Everyone was busy doing their thing, the young guy playing games on his iPad, the guy reading his Chinese newspaper, the old lady eating her cut up apple pieces from a plastic bag and me, staring at the Woman and her dog feeling incredibly sad. I wondered if she had anywhere to go, a place to sleep, food to eat? She didn't look malnourished at all and I asked myself if I offered her some money if I would be insulting her having made an assumption by her piece of cardboard that she was possibly homeless and hungry. Maybe she was, or maybe she is part of the Occupy group and is protesting by choice? Did I have any right to ask?
As the train doors closed and we began to move, I silently asked myself if my thoughts were wasted if I wasn't prepared to do anything about them. Maybe just the fact that I noticed was enough? I changed the song on my iPod and thought about the fact that I was on my way home to a warm house, a home-cooked meal and irrelevant TV that I would probably watch till 1am. What struck me was that I had not looked at her and felt grateful for what I had, I only felt sad for what I perceived she did not. I wonder if there is a difference?
It may be exceptionally judgmental of me to sit here and debate whether someone else is content or not. For me what is important is that I take the time to look around and see things, and sometimes they make me think. We rush around consumed by so much that is trivial, small things make us crazy and cause us not to see anything around us.
I'd like to think that at some point, someone has noticed me either walking down the street, or sitting on a train and that caused them to think something about themselves. I don't need them to come over and tell me anything. Maybe one day I'll read about it.
As written in Wikipedia: "Blood is thicker than water" generally means that the bonds of family and common ancestry are stronger than those bonds between unrelated people (such as friendship).
It first appeared in the medieval German beast epic Reinhart Fuchs (c. 1180 'Reynald the Fox') by Heinrich der Glichezaere, whose words in English read, 'Kin-blood is not spoilt by water.' In 1412, the English priest John Lydgate observed in 'Troy Book,' 'For naturally blood will be of kind/ Drawn-to blood, where he may it find.' More recently, Aldous Huxley's 'Ninth Philosopher's Song' (1920) gave the saying quite a different turn with 'Blood, as all men know, than water's thicker/ But water's wider, thank the Lord, than blood.'
I had lunch with a friend today and the topic turned to her father with whom she has had little or no contact for some time and my mother with whom I often wish I had little or no contact. Even though she said I could use her name I choose not to so for the purpose of today's blog will refer to her as Themis. Themis has two young children and motherhood has significantly impacted her life. I was surprised to hear that her career, one that she brilliantly excels at, may take a backseat to motherhood. Not that that's a bad thing.
This wasn't the first time that Themis voiced her concern at the fact that her father has never met her youngest child but the fear of his toxicity has kept her from establishing any contact. "Toxic" is Themis' and my word to describe our parents who are victims, who blame the world for the consequences of their lives, who become nasty when they need attention; our parents. It's just a word, it's a word that we both understand, it could be substituted by a multitude of words more or less fitting. Those that know our parents, will get it.
I asked her if she wanted her father to know her kids for her kid's sake, for hers or for her fathers? Her kids don't know him now, so have nothing to lose by not knowing him, wont miss someone they never knew. You may argue that it is important for a child to have parents, siblings and grandparents but I respond that it is never important enough when the relationships and impact of those relationships are toxic. And at that young age you have a choice. My father died when I was so young that it's almost like he never existed. I cant miss someone that was never there (stay with me......he was, but he left early enough that there wasn't that much of an impact). I cant say that I even missed having a father figure around, he was never there, I didn't know any different. My sister died two years ago. She was there. She was a huge part of my life. I will never get over losing her. Therein lies a difference.
So we've established that it's possibly not about the kids. Is it important to Themis that her kids meet and know her father? It came out that she may be looking for his approval. But bringing him into her kid's life is risky because he has no boundaries or filter and the chances are that she will have to cut him off again and what impact will that have on the kids? Are they young enough to forget (like I was when my father died) or will it cause some form of emotional stress? Is that worth her father's approval for producing two such beautiful children? Finally, is it important to her father to meet his grandchildren? Neither of us could answer that. If he wasn't a particularly good parent, could he be a particularly good grandparent?
These are questions that we are faced with all the time, in various ways and forms. They are unique to each of us and unless we are in a specific situation we have no right to judge nor opine. Themis will do what is right for her, for her children and for her father. Or she may not and in that case, we are grateful to the existence of therapists and friends (absolution!) all over the world. The only advise that I could offer is this; do whatever will cause you the least amount of regret when he is gone.
So is blood really thicker than water? Are the bonds of ancestry truly stronger than those between uncommon people? Keith and I have no blood connection yet our bond is infinitely stronger than my relationship with my mother. If blood is the bond, then the bond would only exist between offspring (to each other and their parents (and cousins?)) but not between spouses because to be of a blood bond would mean an incestuous marriage of sorts (and almost certain genetic affliction). Wait a second.....so there CAN be that bond without blood......that's what I thought (or is that why divorce/break-up is so easy/acceptable - because the bond is not of blood?). Why is it OK to break the bond when it's not blood, but we are judged when we choose to break those that are?
Maybe I see it differently because of the dysfunctional (toxic?) and fragmented family that I have experienced. Maybe it's a defense mechanism because I covet the large family units, the "Brothers & Sisters" of the world. I have created my own family from uncommon-non-blood people. My friends are my family. Keith's family are my family. Themis is my family.
I have a great Aunt Bessie who never had children and with whom we were close until my mother had one of her alienation episodes and drove her away. I was a kid and I didn't realize the importance of family (blood) but recently started to wonder about her. I wondered if she had died alone. I felt bad about that. It suddenly came to me last week to email the home where I knew she had lived and was absolutely (pleasantly) surprised to find out that the is alive and as well as can be for a mid 90-something woman. I wrote her a long newsy email and asked that it be read to her. There is a connection and it can only have been bourne of blood. Upon hearing this story, Themis immediately responded that I obviously wanted her to have her dad spend time with her kids. But that was not my point because the opposite of that holds true for me too. I have an Aunt in Israel, my father's sister who I barely know. She and my mother had a falling out (surprised?). She has constantly asked what she has ever done to me to make me ignore her. Truth is she has never done anything to me but just because we are blood doesn't mean that we are family. She knows nothing about my life and I know nothing about hers. Yet I feel a connection to great Aunt Bessie. I wonder if it's because she never had any children and my father's sister has kids, grand kids and great grand kids.
This is how I see it. "Family" is whatever you define it to be. It could be a group of people affiliated by blood, affinity or co-residence (as defined by the Latin word). It could be defined by your religious or spiritual beliefs. It could be any of us, it could be all of us, it could be none of us. What's important is that we have the choice to define who we interact with (family), who we turn to in times of need (family), who we call first when something exciting happens (family), who we share with (family), who we fight with (family), who we need (family) and who needs us (family).
As I continue to read REWORK, I come across really good statements, that once again, taken out of the context of the book have a lot more meaning to me than possibly intended by the authors.
You want to feel that if you stopped doing what you do, people would notice
In the context of the book this refers to the work we do. The book asks if you really love your job and if not, why aren't you doing something else? That's a whole topic on it's own and a question I am currently asking myself. But it's not the focus of my blog today.
I've written before about the time-line and the mind-fuck that it is to me. Try follow my line of thought......
I am essentially the end of a genetic line. My mother is the only daughter of her parents. Her father had a brother and a sister. His brother had one daughter. His sister never had any children. There ends his family name when my mother and her first cousin married and took on their husband's names.
My father had one sister. She married and her children took on their father's family name. My father had a son and a daughter. My sister passed away but even if she hadn't and had had children, they would have taken their father's family name.
I am the end of the line, and the chances of me fathering a child are remote. My family name ends when I die.
Now this is not to say that there aren't other people in the world with the same family name as mine, or as my grandfather's. But we aren't related; we just have the same name.
Or are we?
The only way that I got here with the family name that I have was because someone with the same family name as mine had a kid, and they had a kid, and these kids were all boys who carried the name forward. I wonder if someone, 150 years ago sat in their cave and asked themselves what would happen if they didn't have a son, if their family name would disappear. Is it an internal and natural instinct that causes us to procreate?
I think the real question is: "Does it matter after I'm gone?"
What matters the most to me, is that when I am, somebody notices.
I have never been a fan of business and self-help books. When I read, I prefer to launch myself into a fictional world where I can imagine the characters and absorb myself into something other than what I do from day to day. I read a lot. Sometimes I read two books at a time and there is nothing better than the feel and smell of a book and its pages. It is for this reason, by the way, that I will continue to resist those horrible little electronic ebook readers for as long as I can (or until they stop publishing the real thing). Advancements in technology is great but there are some things that should be left alone, and one of those are books!
Anyway, I digress. The purpose of this blog is to talk about a book I am currently reading called Rework, by Jason Fried and David Heinemeier Hansson. As I said earlier, I stay away from the business-type books. I read Malcolm Gladwell's books because everyone said I should and I yawned, not quite understanding why the world goes gaga over things that really are common sense. But I guess the issue is that often someone needs to point those out to us. Back to Rework. This is one of the best non-fictional books I have ever read. I think it speaks to me because it is so simple and because I identify with so many aspects of it. In fact, I recognise many of my own behaviours and working traits in this book and quite frankly, that makes me proud because this is one book that really makes sense to me. Its all about business today and how to get ahead but not in the traditional sense of the word. It certainly doesn't prescribe to "Vision, Mission, Objectives", something I have turned my nose up at for years.
There are some fantastic one-liners and I thought I would list them as they come up. My next few blogs will comprise these one-liners.
The real world isn't a place, it's an excuse. It's a justification for not trying. It has nothing to do with you.
I love this, and taken out of the context of the book can mean so many things.We are so governed by the "real-world" today. I watch the news in amazement most nights, especially at America who claims to be the land of the free yet has become so unbelievably prescriptive and judgmental. (and yes, I realise that in that statement lies my very own judgement but then this is my blog and I can say what I like :-)) You can't take a picture of your kid in the bath because some idiot at Walmart who develops the pics will report you for child abuse, you cant read an old story-tale about Noddy and Big Ears because they have an inappropriate homosexual infatuation with eachother and referring to the Gollywog is racist. There is something wrong with everything, you can't eat this, you can't use that, you shouldn't go here, you should never do that. How did our parents and theirs before them function without all the sensory and information-sharing overload. It's a wonder we even exist. The real world seems to me to becoming less and less of a free place than ever before. It's easier to just go with the pack these days than to be someone different. It's sad to think that if we continually believe that we should do and say as they do in the real world, we may all just become exactly like eachother.
Welcome to 2011, a common year in the Gregorian calender according to Wikipedia, and if we didn't know already; the current year. Wiki further explains that it is the 2011th year of the Common Era or the Anno Dominidesignation. This is also the eleventh year of the third millennium and of the 21st century and the second of the 2010s decade. The Jews (5771; oy vey the agony), the Mayans (didn't have enough space on the wheel to go past 2012), the Chinese (XinMao - Rabbit Stew) and a host of other believers might not agree. For me, it's just another day.
2010 was a hard year for me, but a good one. Friendships ended, began, strengthened. Issues cropped up, were resolved, lead to a change in plans. Through everything, we kept a roof over our head and food on the table. We saw 2011 in with good friends, champagne and sushi, the best dance music (real house), and my 7th opportunity to say "Happy New Year" to Keith, Dexter, Troy and Jessie - my world.
When I was in school, I remember my English teacher having us answer a set of questions and seal them in an envelope. He gave them back to us a year later to compare our predictions to reality. For many years I continued the tradition, sealing my predictions in an envelope (and later a password protected document on my hard drive), and opening them on Dec 31st each year. I haven't done that in a while.
I don't do resolutions. It's just another day. But I do have hopes for the coming months. If you do believe in the stars and new beginnings, in the numbers and the Universe then I hope that the new year, albeit it a Common one, continues to allow us all the experiences we need, deserve, sometimes don't want but are all necessary to remind us that we are free and alive. To those that are not, we will remember you.
A while back I blogged about surfing the timeline and how I struggle to get my head around the fact that as I age, I take the place that people before me held and younger people take the place where I once was and like a conveyer belt life moves on.
Total mindfuck.
My friends Petra and Adam (siblings) gave me a gift of a National Geographic Project Kit. The Genographic Project is a project that uses DNA analysis techniques to map the migratory patterns of human beings over the past 60,000 years. It's pretty fascinating. According to their website, "Where do you really come from? And how did you get to where you live today? DNA studies suggest that all humans today descend from a group of African ancestors who—about 60,000 years ago—began a remarkable journey."
I dutifully swabbed my cheek (rubbing so vigorously that I made the inside of my cheek bleed) and sent off my samples. Results came in today, I've posted them for anyone that feels the interest in reading but here's the thing that totally adds to the mindfuck of the conveyer-belt-timeline; 43,654 years ago this guy (or girl) was somewhere on the earth, doing god knows what but nevertheless someone that happened to be an ancestor of mine. His (or her) actions lead to me being here. The same is said of another he or she 12,530 years ago. I know for sure that approximately 36 and a half years ago one Joan Susan Reiter and Joss Reiter caused my existence. Seriously, it's all just too much to think about.
RESULTS
Your Y-chromosome results identify you as a member of haplogroup J2 (M172).
The genetic markers that define your ancestral history reach back roughly 60,000 years to the first common marker of all non-African men, M168, and follow your lineage to present day, ending with M172, the defining marker of haplogroup J2.
If you look at the map highlighting your ancestors' route, you will see that members of haplogroup J2 carry the following Y-chromosome markers:
M168 > P143 > M89 > L15 > P123 > M304 > M172
(Less is known about some markers than others. What is known about your journey is reflected below.)
Today, descendants of this line appear in the highest frequencies in the Middle East, North Africa, and Ethiopia, and at a much lower frequency in Europe, where it is observed exclusively in the Mediterranean area. Approximately 20 percent of the males in southern Italy carry the marker, along with ten percent of men in southern Spain.
What's a haplogroup, and why do geneticists concentrate on the Y-chromosome in their search for markers? For that matter, what's a marker?
Each of us carries DNA that is a combination of genes passed from both our mother and father, giving us traits that range from eye color and height to athleticism and disease susceptibility. One exception is the Y-chromosome, which is passed directly from father to son, unchanged, from generation to generation.
Unchanged, that is unless a mutation—a random, naturally occurring, usually harmless change—occurs. The mutation, known as a marker, acts as a beacon; it can be mapped through generations because it will be passed down from the man in whom it occurred to his sons, their sons, and every male in his family for thousands of years.
In some instances there may be more than one mutational event that defines a particular branch on the tree. What this means is that any of these markers can be used to determine your particular haplogroup, since every individual who has one of these markers also has the others.
When geneticists identify such a marker, they try to figure out when it first occurred, and in which geographic region of the world. Each marker is essentially the beginning of a new lineage on the family tree of the human race. Tracking the lineages provides a picture of how small tribes of modern humans in Africa tens of thousands of years ago diversified and spread to populate the world.
A haplogroup is defined by a series of markers that are shared by other men who carry the same random mutations. The markers trace the path your ancestors took as they moved out of Africa. It's difficult to know how many men worldwide belong to any particular haplogroup, or even how many haplogroups there are, because scientists simply don't have enough data yet.
One of the goals of the five-year Genographic Project is to build a large enough database of anthropological genetic data to answer some of these questions. To achieve this, project team members are traveling to all corners of the world to collect more than 100,000 DNA samples from indigenous populations. In addition, we encourage you to contribute your anonymous results to the project database, helping our geneticists reveal more of the answers to our ancient past.
Keep checking these pages; as more information is received, more may be learned about your own genetic history.
Your Ancestral Journey: What We Know Now
M168: Your Earliest Ancestor
Fast Facts
Time of Emergence: Roughly 50,000 years ago
Place of Origin: Africa
Climate: Temporary retreat of Ice Age; Africa moves from drought to warmer temperatures and moister conditions
Estimated Number of Homo sapiens: Approximately 10,000
Tools and Skills: Stone tools; earliest evidence of art and advanced conceptual skills
Skeletal and archaeological evidence suggest that anatomically modern humans evolved in Africa around 200,000 years ago, and began moving out of Africa to colonize the rest of the world around 60,000 years ago.
The man who gave rise to the first genetic marker in your lineage probably lived in northeast Africa in the region of the Rift Valley, perhaps in present-day Ethiopia, Kenya, or Tanzania, some 31,000 to 79,000 years ago. Scientists put the most likely date for when he lived at around 50,000 years ago. His descendants became the only lineage to survive outside of Africa, making him the common ancestor of every non-African man living today.
But why would man have first ventured out of the familiar African hunting grounds and into unexplored lands? It is likely that a fluctuation in climate may have provided the impetus for your ancestors' exodus out of Africa.
The African ice age was characterized by drought rather than by cold. It was around 50,000 years ago that the ice sheets of northern Europe began to melt, introducing a period of warmer temperatures and moister climate in Africa. Parts of the inhospitable Sahara briefly became habitable. As the drought-ridden desert changed to a savanna, the animals hunted by your ancestors expanded their range and began moving through the newly emerging green corridor of grasslands. Your nomadic ancestors followed the good weather and the animals they hunted, although the exact route they followed remains to be determined.
In addition to a favorable change in climate, around this same time there was a great leap forward in modern humans' intellectual capacity. Many scientists believe that the emergence of language gave us a huge advantage over other early human species. Improved tools and weapons, the ability to plan ahead and cooperate with one another, and an increased capacity to exploit resources in ways we hadn't been able to earlier, all allowed modern humans to rapidly migrate to new territories, exploit new resources, and replace other hominids.
M89: Moving Through the Middle East
Fast Facts
Time of Emergence: 45,000 years ago
Place: Northern Africa or the Middle East
Climate: Middle East: Semi-arid grass plains
Estimated Number of Homo sapiens: Tens of thousands
Tools and Skills: Stone, ivory, wood tools
The next male ancestor in your ancestral lineage is the man who gave rise to M89, a marker found in 90 to 95 percent of all non-Africans. This man was born around 45,000 years ago in northern Africa or the Middle East.
The first people to leave Africa likely followed a coastal route that eventually ended in Australia. Your ancestors followed the expanding grasslands and plentiful game to the Middle East and beyond, and were part of the second great wave of migration out of Africa.
Beginning about 40,000 years ago, the climate shifted once again and became colder and more arid. Drought hit Africa and the grasslands reverted to desert, and for the next 20,000 years, the Saharan Gateway was effectively closed. With the desert impassable, your ancestors had two options: remain in the Middle East, or move on. Retreat back to the home continent was not an option.
While many of the descendants of M89 remained in the Middle East, others continued to follow the great herds of buffalo, antelope, woolly mammoths, and other game through what is now modern-day Iran to the vast steppes of Central Asia.
These semi-arid grass-covered plains formed an ancient "superhighway" stretching from eastern France to Korea. Your ancestors, having migrated north out of Africa into the Middle East, then traveled both east and west along this Central Asian superhighway. A smaller group continued moving north from the Middle East to Anatolia and the Balkans, trading familiar grasslands for forests and high country.
M304: The Spread of Agriculture
Fast Facts
Time of Emergence:15,000 to 10,000 years ago
Place of origin: Fertile Crescent
Climate: Ice Age ending
Estimated Number of Homo sapiens: Millions
Language: Unknown—earliest evidence of modern language families
Tools and Skills: Neolithic Revolution
The patriarch of M304 was a descendant of the M89 Middle Eastern Clan. He was born between 15,000 to 10,000 years ago in the Fertile Crescent, a region that extends from the Mediterranean Sea to the Persian Gulf where the Euphrates and Tigris rivers form an extremely rich floodplain. Today the region includes all or part of Israel, the West Bank, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, and Iraq.
The descendants of this man played a crucial role in modern human development. They pioneered the first Neolithic Revolution, the point at which humans changed from nomadic hunter-gatherers to settled agriculturists. The end of the last ice age around 10,000 years ago, and the subsequent shift in climate to one more conducive to plant production, probably helped spur the discovery of how to grow food.
Control over their food supply marks a major turning point for the human species: the beginning of civilization. Occupying a single territory required more complex social organization, moving from the kinship ties of a small tribe to the more elaborate relations of a larger community. It spurred trade, writing, and calendars, and pioneered the rise of modern sedentary communities and cities.
The M304 marker appears at its highest frequencies in the Middle East, North Africa, and Ethiopia. In Europe, it is seen only in the Mediterranean region.
M172: Toward the Mediterranean
Fast Facts
Time of Emergence: 10,000 years ago
Place of Origin: Fertile Crescent
Climate: Ice Age ending
Estimated Number of Homo sapiens: A few million
Language: Unknown
Tools and Skills: Neolithic
Your ancestors left a physical footprint that matches their genetic journey. Artifacts from ancient towns such as Jericho, also known as Tell el-Sultan, a site close to present day Jerusalem, provide evidence of permanent human settlements to around 8500 B.C. The sites also suggest the transition from hunter-gatherer to settled life occurred relatively suddenly.
The M172 marker defines a major subset of M304, which arose from the M89 lineage. It is found today in North Africa, the Middle East, and southern Europe. In southern Italy it occurs at frequencies of 20 percent, and in southern Spain, 10 percent of the population carries this marker. Both M304 and its subgroup M172 are found at a combined frequency of around 30 percent amongst Jewish individuals.
The early farming successes of these lineages spawned population booms and encouraged migration throughout much of the Mediterranean world.
This is where your genetic trail, as we know it today ends. However, be sure to revisit these pages. As additional data are collected and analyzed, more will be learned about your place in the history of the men and women who first populated the Earth. We will be updating these stories throughout the life of the project.
It's been a while since I blogged and I keep on thinking I should be writing more often because the intention of this blog was to keep a record of my life since leaving big bad South Africa but then I think that there is nothing that interesting to say. Life has become pretty routine. We are fast approaching our 2 year anniversary in Toronto and it sometimes feels like we have been here forever. I desperately miss my friends and family but there are days now when I am sitting around a table eating dinner with friends, drinking copious amounts of wine and I suddenly stop and think to myself "wow.....these are my friends too". We've even made some enemies, well I couldn't quite call them that, but I would say that friendships have ended. Now that's when you know you are settled in!
It's summer in Toronto and I never thought I would experience this kind of heat in Canada. My friend Jen warned me about this before I even arrived and I thought to myself that it cant be hotter than the Highveld heat in South Africa. Boy was I mistaken, temperatures this past week have hit the 40s (Celsius) with the humidity. It's unbearable, it feels tropical and the only place I want to be is in a horizontal position next to a pool. We have resisted putting on the central air but even the poor dogs weren't coping so now we are satisfactorily cooled indoors. Keith is loving it, spending his time on the lake in the evenings sailing with his friend Dom and I venture out every now and then for a schvitz!
We have been following the FIFA World Cup back in South Africa and I am very proud to see what a positive impact has been made by the country. We are proudly flying the South African flag outside our house.
Of course life in Lawrence's house isn't much fun if there isn't any drama so here is today's story. As most of you know Keith likes to fix up houses and has been doing this for a number of years. This has meant us moving at least every 18 months or so and I was under no illusion that what happened in South Africa, would happen in Canada. We'd been living here for just over 18 months and Keith was getting bored so it became time to sell and move on. I cant say I was truly happy about this as I really love living on this street where we have made the majority of our friends. We listed the house in the winter but didn't get any offers so we took it off the market. At the time we had bought something else that was conditional on the sale of our house and naturally that fell through. I wasn't too unhappy about the whole situation. We listed the house again in the Spring and this time not only did it sell within 10 days, it sold for the asking price which is pretty good for these times. We then went into a flat panic to find something else because we only had 60 days before closing. Keith must have looked at about 30 properties and nothing caught our eye. We thought this would be an opportunity to try out a new neighborhood but each time kept coming back to Cabbagetown where we are settled and happy to the point that we are on a first name basis with Mark the Butcher, Domingo the Green Grocer and even Andy, the Postman! We put in an offer here, another one there, got rejected, went back and so it went but no exciting sales. Finally a house came on the market very close to where we live and we grabbed it. We thought all was said and done and Keith immediately got online and started ordering chandeliers and other necessities for the new house. And then it all fell apart......
We got a call about three weeks ago that the purchaser of our house had lost his job (he was fired) and now informed us that he would not be buying our house anymore and we could return his deposit to x address. We politely informed him that we had a firm and binding Agreement and that we would be doing no such thing. Boy, did the fun then start. I wish I could publish some of the emails he has sent that have gone from begging and pleading, to vicious, to offensive to bordering on the insane. Alas, these are possibly soon to be used in litigation and can't compromise us winning vast amounts of money in damages because if he doesn't buy our house, we don't buy the one we purchased and if we sue him, the person we bought from sues us. Could it be any messier? I won't say much more except for the fact that we are due to move in a week and are nowhere near a resolution (at the time of writing this), blood pressures are high, anxiety is causing major strain and this is not something I would wish on anyone. It happens rarely, and it happened to happen to us! It sucks.
My mother is up to her usual tricks which means that she is costing me money once again and I complained to a friend today over coffee about the constant drama. I have a long-time friend who has all his/her siblings alive and well, as well as parents, a grandparent or two, children, jobs, a house, cars....and rarely seems to ever suffer any drama. For just a moment, I wouldn't mind a little of that. My friend responded that it aint always so peachy on the inside and went on to relate a story of a family much like that, with little drama or problems and the seemingly perfect life. This was until Grandpa murdered Grandma, went to jail and proceeded to set himself alight at Grandma's grave when he was paroled. I know there is more to this story, and I know it is tragic but I burst into laughter in the middle of Starbucks. I guess I'll keep my life just as it is. If my mother murders anyone at Sandringham Gardens Ill be sure to let you know.
I think that's it for now. I'll try be better at updating more often.
I was looking through some old files for a document that I need and came across an old worn book with the words "PRIVATE" scratched into the cover. When I was a teenager I was a huge Jim Morrison fan, I read all his books and poetry, listened to his music, had posters of him all over the place and wore tight tee-shirts and jeans just like him. At some point I decided that I would be a poet just like him too. And inside the tattered old book is my poetry. It's all totally entertaining, the teenager trying to come up with something original out of the depths of despair of being a teenager (yes, most of my poetry was quite morbid and full of self-pity!). And not very good. But hey, here's some of it....
Dad
Memories of days long past
Begin to fade.
The mental picture crumbled
long before.
Yearning for a father stronger grow
Beneath the
Anger
And frustration.
Outward strong I seem to be,
Yet inside flow tears of sorrow
For someone I can't
Remember.
In God We Trust?
Events:
Experienced to learn from.
(The details become clearer much later)
But during is when beliefs falter
And then need be reassured.
In times of need for guiding hands,
One looks for something meaningful
In a God that we all trust.
(or do we?)
Varsity Wall
The echoes fill the building,
They bounce off concrete walls,
And amid the smells of morning feast,
The incessant noise of hurrying feet,
Education calls.
I sit alone yet part of them,
A group of people who,
(Some would rather be elsewhere)
Share a common goal.
And yet someday,
When degrees are held,
And roads diverged,
Most cherished friendships (from these echos)
Shall linger still.
And this one is my favorite because I know exactly who I wrote it for. I hope she reads my blog 'cos she'd be tickled pink (and by the way, she is still married to "someone else" today).
Why is it?
Why is it that I always seem to lose,
To someone else?
Why is it that she doesn't notice me,
But someone else?
Why is it that I love her so and she loves,
Someone else?
Why is it, can you answer me,
Why is it?
I know you love her....
But her not me,
Just let me finish please.
I know you love her endlessly,
But she loves someone else.
Someone else.
Oh, how I hate him so,
You mustn't fight,
You cannot win,
Just let her love him.
I can't, I love...
But she not you,
She loves someone else.
I left South Africa exactly 18 months ago in search of a new life and with the hopes of escaping the horrific crime that Johannesburg had become subject to. To date, life in Toronto has been quiet, safe and free of the stories that I used to hear on an almost daily basis back home. Until this week…
Keith and I were watching the news on Tuesday evening when the headlines came on and we both leaned forward in our seats, horrified at what was taking the lead in that night’s news.
The following was copied later off of a Star newspaper headline:
“Father retrieves stolen stroller in Craigslist sting
Pricey prams are a hot commodity, as Toronto dad learns just hours after a theft”
The basic story reported that a stroller (pram) had been stolen from the front porch of this family’s home at about 1am. The parents had heard a noise and after finding out that the pram was gone, dad quickly logged onto the Internet and began to scour Craigslist for clues. For those that don’t know, Craigslist is an online resource where you can find pretty much anything and is widely used in North America. Lo and behold, at approximately 3am, someone posted a pram for sale, one that sounded oddly familiar to this dad. To cut a long story short, he made plans to meet the seller and ended up retrieving the stolen pram. The Star newspaper article referenced above further went on to say that “There aren’t solid numbers on stroller theft in Toronto, but pram pillaging is enough of a problem that an alert was issued last October in 11 Division, which encompasses High Park and the Junction. After a rash of thefts and two arrests, police suggested that strollers be kept inside or locked up”.
God bless Toronto. May the crimes committed always be opportunistic and for financial gain, without harm to those affected. May the news headlines continue to entertain those that have seen much worse.
P.S. Just in. A horse got stuck in some river and an anonymous donor paid for a helicopter to rescue it and fly it back to safety. I wonder if they will repeat it on the 11pm news later tonight?
I haven’t blogged in a while. Every time I think about updating my blog I realize that I don’t really have anything earth shattering to say. I guess that must mean that we’ve settled into a happy, routine life. I follow a few blogs, one of them nauseatingly irritating due to an exceptional high level of daily “pat me on the back’s” and that’s the last thing that I would want to do. Who cares what I do every day? Just because blogging is the in thing, doesn’t mean that everyone wants to read about you (or me). Anyway, here’s an update on the last few months (just in case you were wondering)…
I last wrote in October so I’ll try and think about interesting and poignant things that have happened since. I turned 36 in November. It’s actually a nice number and I don’t mind at all being on the closer side to 40; my 30s have been tough years. At some point I thought that I may be having an almost-mid-life-crisis but quickly realised that I just hate my job that I love. Explaining that would be tedious and not something I choose to put in writing at this time.
December brought the long-expected visit of Cherise and Simon and a very well deserved break from the love that I hate but love. Work over the preceding months had been more stressful than ever before mostly due to a nasty client and incredibly bad preparation in a project that ended up becoming my problem. I loved having Cherise and Simon see our life, meet our friends and just enjoyed being together. I loved waking them up in the mornings. I loved seeing them lounging around. We did little more than relax, eat and catch up. Knowing that Toronto would never be their first destination of choice I was so grateful that we were reason enough to spend the money and time.
We took our own holiday shortly after Cherise and Simon went home to South Africa. We travelled to Mexico and spend a fantastic week or so in Playa Del Carmen. It was just what we needed, sun, the pool and a constant flow of alcohol. Did I mention that we were drunk before we even reached the hotel and remained that way for the entire duration of the trip?
Our second winter in Toronto has been a breeze (or maybe a slight chill). We barely had any snow until February and it all seems to be over already. I must be honest; I think I would have preferred a little more snow. It’s pretty and makes winter “feel like winter”. But I’m ok with the fact that its over. Keith has bought himself a 32-foot sailboat and I’m looking forward to being ferried privately to and from the island.
As I write this I am looking at a snoring Dexter with a bruised leg and slice from knee to ankle. Poor guy tore his cruciate ligament in his right leg two years ago and had major surgery to correct it just before we emigrated. Surgery involved removing the damaged ligaments, breaking the leg (or rather cutting through the bone) and attaching a steel plate and 8 screws to realign his two leg bones (femur and tibia). The recovery was slow and long, involving 4 months of restricted activity and rehab. Those months of relying on the good leg resulted in the other cruciate tearing a few months ago. We tried conservative treatment of rest and anti-inflammatories because I didn’t want to put him through another surgery but it was inevitable. He had his $4000 (things really are so much more expensive here) surgery last Friday and so far is doing really well. He really is a trooper, seems to be relatively pain-free and resolved to the fact that he will need to heal for a while. Our house isn’t as contusive to this kind of rehab as was our house in Johannesburg because of all the stairs, which means that I have to carry him up and down. But in a few months I know he will be jumping around as if nothing had ever happened.
Daniel came to visit last weekend. What a treat and I was so grateful that he would happily hop on a plane arriving Friday night and leaving Sunday just to come and spend some time with me in between his business in the US. Daniel and I have always travelled well together, we’ve done Sydney, London and other fun things (even a Hindu wedding in Durban where I had to put out so that we had a place to sleep) and rarely tire of each other. We walked around Toronto, we ate and went to gym and we caught up.
Im sure that much more has happened but unless I blog daily, Ive already forgotten! If I remember anything I'll be sure to update you. My 14 registered blog readers are also all Facebook friends so chances are you already know it all!
I think it’s time to wrap things up. I’ll end with good news. We finally became permanent residents last week. While in the grand scheme of things it was relatively quick and painless, it felt long and painful for us. We are one final step towards Canadian citizenship and that feels really cool.
