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Category Archives: Musings

Mar 04
1

It Needs to Burn, But It’s Still Unbearable to Watch

By | Cape Town, Musings | No Comments

The Raging Inferno, formerly know as the Southern Cape. Day 4. The fire has consumed those of us living in its ever-present shadow. I struggle to think of much else. The degree of destruction is beginning to feel like natural disasters we hear about in the rest of the world but rarely experience in our beautiful country. We are no longer exempt. Close on 5000 hectares of Cape Fynbos has now burned. It is devastating.

The fact that no one has been seriously injured shows the incredible people we have managing this fire and looking after the communities that are being circled in flames. The tragedy lies in the houses that have burned to the ground, the destruction of our neatly tarred roads, the ‘humanisation’ of this beautiful, natural environment. The heartache however, lies in the devastation to the animal and plant kingdom, the thousands of traumatised and lifeless animals engulfed in smoke and flames. I have felt overwhelmed on numerous occasions in the last few days when looking at my surroundings and seeing the extent of the damage. I think a large part of that came from the realisation that this is possible. That from a tiny flame can come so much destruction. It’s almost unbelievable. If I am honest though, a lot of that sadness comes from the knowledge that my countryside isn’t as beautiful as it is expected to be, as it ordinarily is.With parents who are avid nature lovers, I grew up in the knowledge that fynbos is a plant type that thrives after fire. The Cape Floral Kingdom is a uniquely adapted environment, which actually needs burning. The burning is a purification of the plants and a redistribution of nutrients to the soil. Seeds and bulbs lying long dormant in the ground are given sunlight and room to grow while larger bushes are prevented from taking over and growing too abundantly in an area. This is the reality of the incredible vegetation that surrounds us. What we are witnessing is a ‘resetting’ of the biome. All this knowledge doesn’t make the destruction any less severe however.

In an interesting conversation last night with a friend, we were discussing the obliteration of our landscape. I was sharing the weight of what I felt was a huge knock to Cape Town. She shared what she thought was a cleansing and a rebirth not only to the vegetation, but people’s spirits too. This fire, she said, may not be what we as people want to see, but it is what the vegetation needs. As difficult as it is to admit, our pain in what we are witnessing may be substantially more selfish than we would like to admit. We as a civilisation have positioned ourselves slap-bang in the middle of an area, which evolved over millennia, around the need to ignite, not regularly, but every 10 – 15 years. This is however, far more often than we would like. Part of the reason so many of us live here is because of the beauty, how could it not sadden us to look around and see a post-apocalyptic wasteland in front of us, we would not be human if we did not feel some sadness at the loss. And I think that’s precisely what was meant by cleansing people’s spirits. A large portion of the Cape Town population has rallied around the fire fighters, pilots and rescue crews. There has been more support shown for these brave men and women than I think I have ever witnessed in our country. We have looked, as a people, beyond our own selves and seen a greater need. There is nothing more cleansing to the soul than that. It has breathed new life into us all.

It is impossible to ignore the heartache the natural world has experienced, nor should we try. What I am suggesting is that we look at this ‘tragedy’ with fresh eyes. Eyes that can see forward to the new growth of plants, to bulbs already stirring under the soil from the heat and smoke from the flames, getting ready to sprout flowers not that different in colour to the flames themselves. The rebirth of vegetation along with new life currently burrowed under the soil, will stir our hearts when we see it. Our mountain may not be much to behold right now, but in time, it will be what it once was. Let’s look forward with anticipation to those first precious buds pushing through the burnt crust of earth.

My hope is that along with the beauty of our floral kingdom, will come a beauty of the human spirit, a burst of new life into the community in ways we have not done before. Let’s keep looking beyond ourselves, there are Fire Lillies among us.

For further reading on fynbos’ need for fire, see Out of the ashes: Notes on the March 2015 Cape Town Wildfire.

Mar 02
1

Human Spirit vs Natural Disaster?

By | Cape Town, Musings | No Comments

As I sit and write, our mountain burns. It burns a blaze that has been going for over 48 hours. It has been fanned by winds over 60km’s an hour while brave men and women simultaneously beat the flames, pitting the strength of nature against the strength of human spirit and tenacity. We don’t yet have a winner. The fire continues to burn at an astonishing rate, leaving the area of devastation at around 3000ha and counting, almost all of which is protected National Park. Five houses, one of Cape Town’s most prestigious hotels and now Tokai forest, burn.

As someone living in the heat of the devastation I have been overcome by the community around me. Not always a group that supports each other, Hout Bay is often chastised for its stark contrast in class and living conditions. There is community violence, xenophobia and theft. People don’t always put their best foot forward. Yet throw something as terrifying as a fire into the mix and you have the ‘Hout Bay hustle’, the uniting of the people. Something I am proud to bare witness to.There was a plea put out this morning to help the fire fighters with food and water. A simple plea, it didn’t ask for much. In amidst my morning I thought, I wonder how many people will read this and assume everyone else will do it? How often do we all sit back and assume someone else will step forward? I venture to say most of us, all of the time. So I pulled myself away from my desk, got in my car and headed down to Hout Bay Neighbourhood Watch headquarters, to see how I could assist.I was blown away, not by the blustery wind as thankfully that had stopped, but by what I found there. A lovely old man was standing by, guiding people to deposit their contributions in trolleys already laden with goods; bottles of water, energy drinks and crates of fruit. Fresh croissants, homemade sandwiches and cartons of eye drops for the poor fire fighters smoke filled eyes. He told me they had already moved 20 trolley loads of groceries to where it was needed on the mountain, and it was only just midday. I was overcome with gratitude. Gratitude for my fellow countrymen who jump when they are needed and pledge what they can to help in the immense task of saving their land and their homes, of helping the brave fire fighting men and women in a task that can only be described as painfully hot and back breaking work. More people than I could ever have hoped for answered a cry for help, it sparked a love for my community and my countrymen such that I haven’t experienced in quite some time. I know it wasn’t only me that felt this outpouring of love today. I heard it spoken of in the shops, saw it on countless social media posts and saw evidence of the appreciation at Neighbourhood Watch Headquarters. Hout Bay I salute you, as I salute the brave men and woman fighting on the mountain tonight. The fire might have wrecked devastation, but it cannot beat down the human spirit.

Aug 03
1

Your Riding Partner, For Better or Worse

By | Musings | No Comments

When you take the leap and decide to get married, you are choosing to ride tandem through life with this one special person, through the up hills and down, through the cold, the wind and the rain, you are in it together. But for some reason, actually riding tandem together is a wholly different set of wheels, or so I initially thought.A couple of weeks back, Shaun and I found ourselves mulling over the awesomeness of a three hour Argus time. The Argus, for those of you who don’t know, is the most beautiful cycling race in the world, 110km’s of picturesque mountains and incredible ocean views, cycling along roads carved into the side of the mountain with sheer rock faces plummeting down into the Atlantic ocean.

Three hours is an incredibly good time.

For some reason, I can only assume we were drinking wine at the time, we decided we should give it a bash on a tandem. (What makes this of notable importance is that we tried this once, many years ago, we got half way around the block before I got off and stormed home)! Anyway, there was some, though limited, logic behind this new idea; tandems go faster down hill with the collective weight of two people on one bike, and they are capable of going faster on the flats (provided that the people on the bike have quads of steel and run diesel engines), but, and there is a but here, going up hill feels a bit like riding your bike in a swimming pool. The effort it takes to get yourself up a hill is hard enough without the combined problem of having someone else throw you off your groove, you have to be completely in sync, and standing together is harder than you might think, individually – it’s impossible. Of course we only found this out after procuring a tandem and entering an incredibly gruelling 109km cycling race in Knysna.

Giving ourselves a grace period of half an hour (because we’re not as fit as we should be and we’ve only climbed on the tandem together about four times), we made the ‘realistic’ goal of completing the race in three and a half hours.

Oh how ambitious we were.

Lets start by exploring the reasons why Shaun and I would make good tandem partners (on a bike, not in life. No wait, it probably applies to both):

1.     We both think we are awesome.
2.     We are both very competitive.

Although I’m listing this as a positive (because I needed to have more than just one), it’s not entirely a good thing. Let me explain; Shaun is so competitive he will dive into a race and give everything, and I mean everything, until he blows, until he has absolutely nothing left. I am so competitive I talk myself out of wanting to compete before I even start the race because I’m scared I might not achieve my desired time, I tell myself I don’t care and I must ‘just enjoy it’ – whatever that means. This is clearly not a good thing. Together, these are completely incompatible.

Now let’s explore the reasons Shaun and I don’t make good tandem partners:

1.     Shaun is chronically on time. I am almost incapable of getting to the start of a race on time. (I’m too busy convincing myself I don’t care and I don’t want to win anyway.)
2.     I am a lefty (leg), Shaun is a righty. This means nothing to you until your feet are clipped into your pedals and you unclip opposite legs when you stop the bike! (A tandem cannot lean to the left and the right at the same time.)
3.     I start the bike with my pedal raised and ready to push down with brute force. Shaun starts by pushing off his standing leg, then lifting his clipped in leg, then pushing down with brute force! Not only does this spell confusion, bruised shins and bad language, but there is a large chance you will stay in one place until you can fuse your techniques.
4.     I swing the handle bars from side to side when in standing position (this is not good form but I’d rather fall off the bike than admit that to him, I’m a grown up like that). Shaun has the most incredibly stationary upper body – damn him for his awesome core muscles!
5.     The clincher … We both like to be in control.

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With this overwhelmingly positive overview, you can see exactly why we launched into riding tandem together. Unlike in a marriage, where the idea opposites attract is a good thing, when riding a tandem, the more similar you are the easier it is. We clearly have a lot to work through, although when I say we, what I mean is I. I know I sound like a martyr here, but the guy on the back really has no control over anything. We don’t steer, or break, or change gears, we don’t choose the route or the side of the bike we unclip on. We keep the pace to the gears that are chosen for us, and are then asked with all audacity whether we are pushing! We listen, and we do as we’re told. We stand when the person in front stands, because we can’t not…But then in a rarely found moment of contemplation, something happened. I realised how similar riding together on a bike is to being married. Let me enlighten you.

1. Sometimes it’s about blind faith.

In the beginning we were both trying to control things, I wanted to hold the reigns and kept trying to peek over Shaun’s shoulder to make sure he was keeping a good line, steering us on the best path. Every time I did this it knocked the tandem off balance and we had a noticeable wobble. My need to monitor if we were close enough to the rider in front of us, or too close, was constantly undermining Shaun’s ability to handle the bike. It was a real exercise in faith and trust to make myself hold my own line, keep my position on the bike steady, so Shaun could do his job of steering it the right way.
Now I’m not saying it’s a man’s position to steer a marriage, what I am saying is that you have to believe your partner is going to fulfil their roll, whatever it is, without you peering over their shoulder second-guessing them.

2. You learn it’s about communication.

Sometimes a gear is too hard for me to push, or I need to crank it up a notch because spinning can hurt a ladies undercarriage (really it’s impossible for a guy to understand this), those are the times I need to speak up. Try as woman have over many centuries, men just have not mastered mind reading. The problem with speaking up when you’re so exhausted is that sometimes it comes out as more of a yell than a speak. Your normal climate and pressure controlled voice becomes raw and direct. Which brings me to point three.

3. Understanding.

When you know where your partner is, mentally or physically, you can quite easily determine what is worth fighting about. If one of us has a particularly terse note to our voice, realising it’s because we’re in a race and beyond exhausted, will prevent a needless feud over a trivial tonal matter. Not everything is worth fighting about, understanding can carry your marriage a long way.

4. Support.

Going it alone is a heavy burden. Obviously it is impossible to actually go it alone on a tandem, but you can most certainly feel like you are. You can ride side by side yet feel depleted and abandoned. There is something incredibly uplifting in hearing your spouse acknowledge your efforts and offer words of encouragement. You don’t have to be on a bike and completely exhausted to have that kind of encouragement bring tears to your eyes. Knowing someone’s got your back and can see your efforts, does everything in helping you trudge that last mile of uphill. In short; support fosters trust, which is invaluable in assisting blind faith. It’s synergy folks.While I can calmly sit here and muse over the similarities of marriage and tandem riding, being in the race allowed for less contemplation. With Shaun’s competitive spirit we catapulted off the start line at a pace I strongly feel is reserved for cars. The lead tandems set a gruelling speed which we managed, until we hit the first big climb – that’s where the wheels began to come off, figuratively speaking of course. We realised that in our excellent attempts to service our bike the night before we had screwed up the gears enough that we couldn’t change down to allow us to climb up hill. Every change into our smaller chain ring required my unclipping my right foot and timing a perfect kick to the de-railer (whilst peddling of course) while Shaun changed the gears. It sounds easy enough, and probably is when you’re not riding up a hill that looks like you’ve reached base camp at Mount Everest. The day was freezing and the hills got progressively steeper as the race went on, this did nothing to help our inexperienced arses reach the end of the race. In fact, up one particularly steep hill I managed a whopper of a kick and succeeded in hoofing the chain right off, requiring us to stop and fix it. This too sounds easier than it was. Our poorly matched cycling technique and lack of fire-drills came into play rather heavily as it took us the better part of five minutes, lots of bad language, Shaun loosing his temper (which has only happened about twice in the eleven years we’ve been together) and a bruised undercarriage, for us to get the bike going again. As our collective profanity echoed its way down the mountain, we managed to summit Everest, whilst simultaneously stomaching the humiliation of all the riders who had passed us and seen our attempts at starting on that camber climb.

This was not the last mountain we had to climb either.

I’m pretty sure that holds true for our marriage as well. No matter how prepared you think you are, sometimes you just don’t have it. Sometimes the mountains are bigger than you expected, or your gears wont change. Sometimes the temperature (or your partner) is freezing and there is nothing you can do to warm yourself (or them) up. But persevering through our less than ideal race gave us something to laugh about afterwards, and left us with such a feeling of accomplishment about something we did together. And although in the moments of utter physical, mental and emotional depletion in the race I wondered whether I would voluntarily put myself through that again, I know I would. I also know that when it comes to our marriage, practicing the same faith, communication, understanding and support that is essential when riding tandem together, will lead us to a place of deeper respect and love at home.

 

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Jun 12
2

How It Came To Be

By | Musings, Our Travels | One Comment

This post is for those of you who, like me, just want to know more, who want the small details, the in between, the how. I’ve often read travel stories and when I’m saturated with the beauty and adventure of the lands they’ve discovered, I am left wanting to know more about the people. I want to know why they did it, why they chose that place. I want their whole story, well at least the good bits. So I’m going to try and give you our good bits here. This is our story.

August 2008, at a time that for good reason I cannot be more specific, a round and happy little egg, met its match. Shaun and I had been married for two years, and this kind of thing is to be expected, but we were blindsided. We had moved from Johannesburg to Cape Town the year before and we were very happily living it up in our beautiful new city. Wine tasting on weekends, days spent lying in peaceful oblivion on the white sandy beaches, and evenings out with friends enjoying one of the world’s most charming cities. Then rather abruptly, we were faced with the news of a new little life. It was unexpected, but we were delighted. And then we were overwhelmed by our desire to travel!

In all the years we had been together (six by this stage) we had never had the desire to spend months or years in other countries, either trying to stretch our Rands (South African currency) or earning what ever we could in what ever minimum wage job was allowed for foreigners. Suddenly we felt the need to stretch our legs and gain a little perspective on our lives, and suddenly that was exactly what we couldn’t do.

Shaun and I are not people who take no for an answer very easily, in fact, we are the type of people who will make a plan, we will make it work, we will do what we must. But at this particular juncture in our lives, we knew what the right choice was, and we were in a whole other ball game; should I go natural or C-section, should I bottle or breastfeed, disposable diapers or cloth ones? Life had turned in a very different direction. With this adult like decision on staying put while having our little girl, we made a firm decision to embark on our round the world trip when she turned one!

May 2009 – Lola was born.
July 2010 – Proposed date for travelling the world…
July 2010 – Lincoln was born.

Uh, yes. That happened. As it does in life, particularly ours, our plans were discarded like a used diaper. Out with the old and in with the new, a beautiful bouncing baby boy and a fourteen month old big sister. We had gone from travelling the world to creating our own world in which we were wrung out, sleep deprived, messes of human beings, just trying to make it to another day. Not exactly what we had envisaged, but our cards had been dealt and we played the hand as best we could, always looking forwards and upwards, (when we weren’t crying with our heads in our hands that is) waiting for a time we knew we could drag an active, accident prone little boy and his calm and accommodating big sister on an adventure of a life time.

14 month old Lola meeting her baby brother for the first time.

14 month old Lola meeting her baby brother for the first time.

The truth of it is that for the first two years of having two kids, it was just about survival. Not only had we doubled the size of our family within fourteen months, we also threw buying a new house and starting our own business into the mix. Not something I would ever recommend to anybody, ever. The earth continued to turn however, despite my being stuck in a deluge of diapers and tantrums, and finally we started to see the light. Lola turned four and as Lincoln neared three he became rather more manageable than he had been as a feisty toddler. His tantrums became less and we suddenly thought; this child is capable of sitting in an aeroplane for twelve hours without trying to pull the emergency exit lever because it’s red and shiny and hell, why am I saying that, he never needs a reason to do outrageous things! He tripped over everything, including his own feet, fell backwards down stairs he always knew were there, took nose dives, managed to cut his face open on anything that wasn’t wrapped in cotton wool, but that’s no reason to keep us all home. Why don’t we let him do that somewhere we’ve never been. So the epic planning commenced.

We started by looking at our calendar and finding the only time between big events when we could be away. We had a six-month window, which happened to fall between October and March. What started out as a round the world trip, was quickly modified into something more plausible in the time we had. We decided to pick a continent, or more specifically, we thought about places we would love to go given the weather at that time of year. We didn’t pick the place we wanted to go to the most, or I would have ended up sightseeing Europe in the snow and freezing cold with three less than happy travel companions, and Shaun would have ended up backpacking myself and two kids through South American jungle at its hottest. Thus there were a number of reasons why we chose North America:

1.     It was the only place Shaun and I could agree on.
2.     We could see incredible cities and awe-inspiring national parks.
3.     Depending on how we angled it; both challenging for the kids, but also very kid friendly.
4.     I could have a hot beach holiday and Shaun could ski – two essential elements, one continent.
5.     It was the only place Shaun and I could agree on!

All the decision making happened in July 2013. With a trip two months away, we launched into the frantic planning. Thanks to Google Maps, Yelp and Trip Advisor, no maps or guide books were necessary, literally folks, my unwavering gratitude! Planning travel in the twenty-first century must be a gentle scotch mist in comparison to our predecessors’ torrential downpour of an event. We literally had to book our flights, and the rest we could have done on the fly, I mean, we kind of did. We booked our only large blocks of accommodation before we left; New York, Mexico and skiing over Christmas, and the rest of the time we played it by ear, staying slightly longer in some places and dodging other places all together in lieu of some wonderful off the beaten track place we heard of from fellow travellers or Americans who have made a habit of exploring their country. I mean we had a plan, we chose our route based on the cities and national parks we wanted to see, but we let ourselves drift off course because this was an adventure after all. Nothing like a bit of deviation to spell “I’m on holiday and I can do what I want to”!

What our final route looked like. 5 months. 24 000km's.

What our final route looked like. 5 months. 24 000km’s.

To fill you in on the hows, I’m going to have to correct that last sentence, it wasn’t exactly a ‘holiday’, ‘adventure’ would be the more accurate word. The background info you need here is that Shaun is an electrical engineer turned software developer. He is a coding genius. With all that genius-ness floating around his head coupled with his greatest desire – to spend more time with his family and actually participate in his children’s everyday lives, he decided he needed to untangle himself from the irritable bowels of money clogged corporates. This was one of the best things we ever did. With less than ideal timing, we managed to pull it off, successfully creating Customised Applications, a company designing and constructing apps for phones and tablets. This is the sole reason we were able to travel for 6 months.

By our working, we would either have had to save up for years in order to afford a trip of this kind, or we would have to take our working on the road with us. Being far less saving savvy than we should be, we knew our only option was to work, so that is exactly what we did.

Shaun. Headphones. Computer. (Mexico)

Shaun. Headphones. Computer. (Mexico)

With careful planning, an uncanny ability to block out the world, and time management skills that I yearn for, Shaun was able to pop on his headphones no matter where we were and disappear into his own world of coding and design. While this worked very well when everything was running smoothly, when the company hit speed bumps and corners (which it was bound to do while we were away), it caused ripples that had serious repercussions on our side. We would be in a new city, with hundreds of things we wanted to see and Shaun would have to put out fires, sometimes not leaving our apartment or hotel for two or three days at a time. Sometimes conducting business calls in the middle of the night, in the bathroom, because we were in a one room hotel and it was below freezing outside. Things certainly weren’t always ideal, and we had days, in fact weeks, where juggling it all was almost too much for us to handle. But somehow we always pulled through, made it through the tough days and onto brighter ones where skiing, sightseeing or exploring America’s extreme backyard made the trip worthwhile again. We were fully aware that without Shaun’s ability to work abroad, a trip of this kind would never have been possible. So we endured the tumultuous waters, and focussed on the days when the sun shone down and the waters were smooth.

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With the gift of hindsight, there are many things we could have, should have perhaps, done differently. But half the beauty of our trip was the way in which we did it. We never took no for an answer (well almost never), we pushed ahead when seemingly everything was against us and we learned through sleepless nights and days of tears how sticking to your guns and doing what you yearn to do is possible, not always easy, but worth every glistening tear you shed. Until you realise that it isn’t, and then you know the time has come for you to go home.

Life doesn’t always go the way you planned, there are undoubtedly more obstacles than you anticipate, but there are also joys you don’t anticipate too. Travelling with our children forced us to do things slightly differently, not much, but there were obviously a few things. But by doubling the size of our family, we also doubled the size of our joy; there is nothing as amazing as seeing the world through your children’s innocent, enthusiastic eyes! They pushed us to experience more, as we pushed them as far as their little legs would go. We grew as a family in a way that we could never have at home. Persevering with our travel plans through not just one but two children, didn’t just give us the satisfaction of showing the naysayers we could, it showed us how strong we are, (maybe obstinate is the more appropriate word) and forged roots that can only build our family stronger.

May 28
1

Sharing Is Detrimental To Your Sanity – But They’re Playing Us

By | Musings | No Comments

As I was driving home yesterday with my preschool age kids, the silence couldn’t escape my notice. Maybe not complete silence, Lola had requested I put up the volume on Katy Perry’s most recent musical genius, but other than the bitter sweet sounds of a 4 year old singing ‘…are you ready for, ready for a perfect storm…’ there was decidedly a lack of child created noise. After a long day of working, home schooling, swimming lessons and the daily grind, some peace in the car was nothing short of heaven. I know that sounds confusing, but when I say ‘peace’ what I mean is no fighting, loud playing or name calling (we’re into the hilarity of toilet humour so ‘poo-face’ makes a frequent occurrence).What made this particular event unusual however, was that after swimming there is always a scuffle and a huff over who gets to hold whatever post swimming treat I have brought. These morsels are usually in the form of a packet of crackers, flavoured rice cakes, or chips. By this time of day they have usually eaten their weight in sugar and there are more peaceful things I prefer doing in my evenings than pinning my sugar-high children to their beds and threatening a night without their favourite cuddly toy.

Having two children so close together has been an education in many ways, it’s like having twins, but sometimes harder. Lincoln wants to do everything Lola does, eat everything Lola does and stay awake when Lola does. Those of you who have kids know that the difference between a two and three year old is big, sleep schedules are still in full swing and there are some things that a two year old really shouldn’t be eating yet (refer to earlier comment on sugar mass). Now that they are three and four it is easier, but the fact that Lincoln is fourteen months younger is still something I need to consider.One of the things I am thankful for in their close age gap is that neither of them can remember life without the other one, well obviously in Lincoln’s case, but Lola certainly can’t remember being an only child either. So there have been some life essentials I have tried to put in place from early on; tolerance of each other and their differences (of which there are many), kindness as well as open displays of affection and love, particularly after events like socking your sister in the eye or tripping your brother when he spends most of the day tripping himself anyway, helpfulness – because the sooner they can start cooking me meals and cleaning up the better, and then the obvious gem at hand – sharing.

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Mention ‘sharing’ to any mother and she will probably hang her head and weep a silent tear for that which cannot be. It is hard to fully understand the extent to which a young child will not share until you have seen it for yourself. It can be extreme! I won’t go into the logistics of it, kids can be freaky and down right inhumane, but don’t let me put you off*. I must be an open book here and confess that my children are actually rather sweet with each other and are incredibly good at sharing, I think a by-product of being forced into it, but when it comes to food, they behave like half starved children you would think have just escaped a concentration camp. There has been more than one occasion when a fist has been flung in order for another morsel to reach their mouths. It baffles me. This behaviour isn’t limited to things like sweets and cakes either, they are just as willing to squabble over who gets to hold a packet of dry crackers.

This brings me back to the relative silence in the car. For a change, I had brought two packets of crackers, the ingeniousness right? I feel this needs an explanation, not because I’m up for most thoughtful mom of the year, but because I don’t regularly perform this action with regards to bettering my mental state and injecting calm into my frazzled veins. Generally swimming is a late finisher; therefore hunger needs to be kept at a seventy to eighty percent in order for the kids to eat their dinner. More crackers equal less dinner. That, and I mercilessly soldier on with forcing the sharing.

The calm of my drive home highlighted my potential stupidity with forcing something that should come to them one day without all of my incessant  ‘life lesson’ planning. But then something else occurred to me; day in and day out we mothers tirelessly try and teach our children to become masters of the universe (maybe without the oversized sword) and then the day comes when their training begins to pay off, and in mastering their universe, they master you. In fact, we’re probably the easiest targets on their list. They begin with us. With almost 9 collective years of training in the art of mum manipulation, my two are getting very good. So good in fact, that it has taken me a while to realise how well they play me. But I’m seeing the golden lining, if they can outsmart me, even for only one car ride at a time, they are well on their way to conquering their universe. In a completely backwards way, I should be pleased with my handiwork. Let the lessons recommence, and let me find the strength to persevere with two sharp whited preschoolers who can both outmanoeuvre and outplay me!

*Kids are also scrumptious little puddings who giggle and give big hugs.

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May 08
1

My Reintegration – Like Caging a Deer

By | Musings, Our Travels | No Comments

That’s right, I’ve just likened myself to a deer. If you know me well, you would know I am almost nothing like a deer. I certainly cannot jump, my pelt is rather more white than brown, and my hooves lack a distinct lightness of step. I do however enjoy the freedom of an open plane, grasslands where you can roam uninhibited, streams with crystal cool water to frolic in, winding your way through an indigenous forest, nothing but nature around you for miles in every direction. I realise how this sounds, and yes I have a four year old daughter, and yes I’ve watched Bambi more times than I can count, but I have also just had six months of freedom, six months of running in which ever direction I chose.

Being home, and engrossed in daily life, has highlighted my confinement. The adjustment period needed to integrate me back into ‘normal’ life is overwhelmingly more complex than I anticipated. As doe-eyed as you might think I am, I didn’t foresee this complication, a feeling of hovering above life, but not quite in it. Everyday I wake up in the same house, and face much the same day as the one before. The routine I so longed for while we were travelling is now here and has taken hold of me like the teeth of a snare. As unpleasant as that sounds, I don’t dislike my life or my routine. What I dislike is that I don’t have the option to head into the hills with my family and hike until we all fall over, that we can’t all climb into a car and drive hundreds of kilometres talking nonsense and laughing, reading each other novels while the children sleep, and trying to formulate the strangest noises we can while passing the tedious hours strapped to a chair. Heading to a new ‘home’ every few days was exhausting, but it also gave us the opportunity to live like locals in a foreign city and visit sights I had only seen in movies and National Geographic magazines. As tiring as living like that was, I felt like we were living, really experiencing life.

I never really understood the idea of being bitten by the travel bug. I couldn’t understand a person’s desire to sit for hours on a plane, travel in sticky public transport and sleep in uncomfortable beds. Being in a breath-taking place, I totally get, but I never thought the route getting there was worth it. I’ve only recently come to realise that being bitten by the travel bug means you are entirely willing to tweak (read ‘unhinge’) your comfort levels, that seeing new things everyday, things that change your frame of reference and adjust your previous ideas about a place, a group of people, or a whole nation, is worth its weight in sweaty public transportation.When we arrived back from the States I was happy to give travelling the old boot for at least the next ten years. After a week, I had changed my mind enough to be planning an epic trip for the end of the year. I now find myself chomping at the bit, spurring my iron horse on so we can rake in more colourful notes that will procure our passage to ever more far off lands.

If mind reading was possible in a blog, you would all know I say the above with my heels dug firmly into Capetonian soil. I have never felt more at home and more in love with my city. The bug that has bitten me seems to be one most profoundly addicted to spending quality time with my family, in a place where time has less of a hold on us. In many ways I feel torn. Pandora’s box that was cracked open on our travels has without a doubt left me feeling wanting. My only consolation is that wanting time with my family in a place we can all learn and grow, are both great things to want. I also know that the minute we have left Cape Town behind us, my heart will feel wrenched from my chest, securely chained to the mountain and white sandy beaches we’re leaving behind. How have these complexities of life and adulthood crept up on me? I could have sworn I knew it all when I was eighteen, and it was far simpler than this.

Sometimes growing up blows. Sometimes the more you realise about yourself the harder life becomes. But sometimes, just sometimes, realisation can be beautiful. Knowing where you belong in the world is a precious gift far too few people have experienced. Knowing that place will always be there, no matter how far you stray from it, however painful it may be, gives you a foundation of strength and a centre of love to radiate from. Exploring the world and all its magnificence is extreme! It offers you everything: a view inside your soul, a view inside the others travelling with you, a glimpse into the past and the future, an appreciation or an abhorrence, a perspective where previously there was only narrow mindedness. It offers understanding, while at the same time shrouding you in confusion and doubt. It broadens every facet of thought you have ever had, offering so much more to your life and your soul than you thought possible while cuddled in cotton-wool at home sipping expensive local wines complaining about your lack of promotion and the increase in the fuel price. Life is so much bigger, so much more.

I love my home, I love my routine, God knows I love my bed, but some comforts are worth sacrificing for edification and an epic family adventure. Maybe the lesson is that I don’t need to reintegrate. Maybe I can continue to feel like Bambi caged up in a zoo. Maybe that niggling feeling will be what helps us grab every day, make the most of our time at home, while dreaming of the ambitious adventures that lie ahead… may there be many. Bring on the niggles! Xx

My little family :)

My little family 🙂

Apr 14
1

The Subtle Art of Gaping

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After spending five months travelling the States in temperatures as low as negative forty degrees – two 31 year old children, two pre-school children, ten bags, two bikes, two scooters, an office-in-a-laptop-bag, mounds of ski gear and an SUV later; packing us up to travel east along the South African coast line was a breeze. Okay, packing is never a breeze, but it was lying on a tropical beach sipping margaritas in comparison.

South Africa’s ‘Garden Route’ has always been praised as one of the most beautiful areas of South Africa. I have never debated it, not for a moment, because the lush green hills and mulchy fern covered forests are beautiful, no, magnificent! You cannot help but breath the peace into your lungs and soak the earth in through your skin. Simply driving along the highway can fill you with a sense of clam like no other road I’ve been on, and I’ve been on a lot of road. Surrounded by indigenous trees green enough to still the busiest mind, you find your eyes constantly gazing off to the hills in the distance, or this is what I’ve found myself doing in the past, on the countless times I’ve been privileged enough to travel that road. On this most recent occasion, I found myself gaping in wonder. What I had always looked at with appreciation and fondness; the lovely hills that accompany you along a large section of the road, were now seen through new eyes, eyes that could see more, appreciate more.
The ‘hills’ of the Eastern Cape are in fact big mountains! I know this because after travelling the States and being less than adequately compensated on many occasions with views which had been raved about, only to find that the “Incredible mountains” in many regions were no more than masses of rolling hills dotted by the occasional larger hill, has left me with a true appreciation for what lies in my own back yard. The mountains that bend and curve alongside the highway, gliding upwards into delicate peaks as they meander their way along the coastline with the grace of a thousand swans, are now seen in the light they should be; truly superb!

Lola and Lincoln running on Main beach in Plett, with the Cape Fold Mountains in the distance.

Lola and Lincoln running on Main beach in Plett, with the Cape Fold Mountains in the distance.

I struggle to digest my previous nonchalant attitude towards countryside that should be revered. Africa can capture your soul and hold you in its grasp in a way I didn’t know was possible, even though I have often heard tourists comment on it during their frequently recurring trips to our country. South Africa is revered, but I think only truly appreciated by those who have seen more. I feel like perspective should somehow be incorporated into schooling, not just to show us what we have in this country, but to open our eyes to everything we have. I have learned that perspective is the only way to sincerely appreciate anything, but this has taken me a good 30 years and traversing the entire United States to learn.

The abundance of beauty in South Africa is beyond words, there is little you could want and not find in our country, and I am embarrassed to say that I didn’t appreciate this the way I should have as a privileged child growing up, and holidaying, in exquisite areas of South Africa. A large portion of our country, appreciated by some, but simply ignored as a tourist destination by so many of its own people, has more splendour to offer than some of the most talked about National Parks in the US. Maybe we need to get promoting our own country to our own people, or maybe like me, it will take seeing another ‘better’ place, before a grey filter is lifted from their eyes, as their plane touches back down on seemingly unsophisticated, yet deeply rich, African soil.

Mar 13
1

To Homeschool… or Not to Homeschool

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What I didn’t expect when I took the kids out of school last year to travel the US for six months, was that I wouldn’t want to send them back when we got home. I find myself in a strange position of late, a monologue debate if you will, fighting both sides of the issue.

When we left last year I was in a wonderful space. The kids were both in nursery school in the morning. This afforded me the time to tackle my list of things to do, get work done, exercise, have coffee with a friend, do the grocery shopping, any number of things that it is easier to do without children, particularly a three and four year old hell bent on turning my previously youthful self into someone looking more like a middle aged mother with each passing day. And then we decided to pack it up and jet the four of us off to the States. Looking back, this was the best thing we have ever done.

I was in no doubt when we left South Africa that having the children with us all day, and all night, every day for six months was going to be a challenge, especially when Shaun and I had got into the very good habit of having a date night once a week, and making time for each other as much as we could in amongst our busy lives. Suddenly faced with no date nights and no nursery school was a daunting image. I write this knowing how ridiculous it must sound to people who don’t have children. I mean why wouldn’t we want to spend all day and all night with our spawn, right? I also write this with the knowledge that parents with grown children often long for the days when the kids were young and innocent, little sponges walking around absorbing details about the world that grown-ups take completely for granted.
Well, what I realised during our travels is that it needn’t have been as daunting as we, or maybe I, had thought. Our little sponges walked around with us doing exactly that, absorbing the world. They were energetic, happy, bouncy, sometimes tired and grumpy, but usually incredible three and four year olds. There is nothing more we could have asked of them, and I know with every fibre of my being how much they loved spending every day and every night with us. We were theirs entirely.

I will freely admit that I didn’t fully appreciate before we left, just how much I would come to treasure this time as a family, possibly, no, definitely more so than actually travelling the States. We have been asked so many times, “What was your favourite part?” and my honest answer, is having that incredible time with my family. Seeing all the things we saw, and being in some of the most epic places definitely gave our trip a sense of purpose and wonderment, but I think the true beauty of those five months for me was watching my children grow and learn, taking in their world, and being able to shape each day the way we wanted to. We had no nursery school we had to be at, no after school activities and no meetings (this isn’t entirely true of Shaun and Skype, but the kids and I escaped it). Sure we had daily survival basics, grocery shopping, and other mundane life tasks, budgeting, finding accommodation, many of which were stressful make no mistake, but each day was ours to throw ourselves into, either with barrels of laughter and energy, or with pyjamas and a mug of hot chocolate. I can’t imagine not having had this time with them, it is such an important age, an age when their reasoning is shaped, their logic formed and ideas of who they are and how they fit into the world expanded. It is an incredible blessing to have been given this time with them, so completely and without reserve. I really do know how lucky I am.

I think the early years with my children left me a little scared, a little scarred even. Having two kids fourteen months apart and no family around to help left its mark. Shaun and I were worn flat for many months, it took more than a lot out of us, as any parent of a baby can attest. Each day was a survival to get to the next… but now here we are! An incredible age of wonder and joy, from not just one child but two. I can say without hesitation that children bring joy, and loads of it! Sure the first few years can be backbreaking work, but the rewards when you can start enjoying the world with your children, seeing things through their fresh, untainted eyes, and feeding off the endless joy and giggles that seem to spill from every corner of the house, answering questions you haven’t thought about possibly since you were their age, and being challenged on your ‘truths’ … it is magnificent!

The brilliance of the past six months is going to be hard to let go of, giving my children over to a school system I don’t control, and being ruled by a time that I cannot mold, carries weight over me. Had I not just experienced my last six months, I would know no different, but I feel like a secret box of wonder has been shown to me. While I have never been against homeschooling, I have also never felt I had what it takes to see it through. Maybe at this age I am allowed to embrace every moment with them and not feel like I am depriving them of the schooling system, there is time for all that. I find myself revisiting my capabilities as a mother and shaper of my children’s world. I don’t known yet what the next while holds for us, and maybe our path will be more or less dictated for us, but it is great to be able to see my children’s education in a different light. These last six months have truly opened my eyes, and filled my heart to overflowing.

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Mar 01
1
Cape Town skyline at dusk.

5 Months of Perspective

By | Cape Town, Musings, Our Travels | No Comments

Although it took a little more than closing my eyes, tapping the heels of my red shoes together and repeating “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home”, I feel rather like Dorothy returning home after her adventures in the Land of Oz. What an incredible story, but man is it good to be home!! Waking up in sunny South Africa, in our beautiful city that looks even better than it did when we left, makes it hard to believe that what we did for the past 5 months actually happened. The ending to this story could very easily be, ‘and they woke up and it was all a dream’… except for our all-consuming jetlag, lily-white complexions and lack of a house. Yes, our homelessness knows no bounds.

In planning for our trip we decided to rent our house out for 6 months in order to help cover the costs. Obviously our returning early means little to the munchkins living in our home, so until they move on, we have made camp in what can only be described as truly exceptional friends homes. We arrived at Melissa and Austin’s house on Friday morning, and positively exploded. To be clearer, I should say our luggage exploded and we collapsed. Bar the light fittings, we’ve had clothing hanging from almost every available surface. These last few days have looked like someone has begun a laundry service from the Fagan’s normally beautifully ordered home. With the utmost grace and warmth though, we have been absorbed into the home and the now 4 adult 4 child home is pulsing with life at all hours of the day and night, it is wonderful! Chaotic, yes, but after missing our friends like we have, coming back to this is exciting and replenishing.

In fact, since we arrived home on Friday, we have had no lack of excitement. We barely had time to unpack (actually we didn’t at all, we decided to sleep Friday away instead) before heading off to a 35th birthday party on Friday night, where Lincoln and Lola managed to convince their best little friend Owen, to stay awake with them until almost 2am when he passed out, only half an hour before they themselves were herded to the sleeping chambers. Eastern Standard Time seems somewhat tricky to get out of the system!

The following days consisted of beautiful sunny beach visits, 30th birthday’s and lunch’s with dearly missed friends and family, all of which exciting, none of which we were fully awake for. We reserved fully awake status for 2am when we should have been getting our extensively desired beauty rest. One week on however, and we seem to be finding our feet again.

In my sleep-deprived state during our migration from Wyoming… to New York… to London… to Cape Town, I neglected to fully illuminate the motives behind our final demise. After much interrogation from friends and family (and questioning into whether I was pregnant again – I mean really! It’s been almost 4 years since our winning streak and we’ve gleaned a thing or two on how babies are made since then), I thought it best to fill the rest of you in.

To put it simply, we were just tired. Tired of packing, tired of moving, tired of trying to fit in more than is humanly possible into 24 hours, tired of lots more besides, but more important than what we were tired of, is what we were looking forward to! We wanted friends, family, summer, stability, not living out of a suitcase, picnics on our beach, good food, date nights, our bicycles, our own beds, abundant kitchen utensils, homes with gardens, homes with more than one bedroom, homes without neighbours below us!.. a warm sun, South African accents, a currency that’s worth something in its own land, a nation of colour, a nation of diversity, a population that allows their children to run free… we longed for home.

Our arrival back in Cape Town looked rather epic.

Our arrival back in Cape Town looked rather epic.

What we learned in our 5 months in the States, is that the grass isn’t always greener. The grass may be a different shade of green, longer in some places, denser in others, but as with everything in life, there is no ‘one size fits all’ in the world’s diverse network of grasses. While I personally prefer grass that is allowed to grow on it’s own, with guidance and corrections, but ultimately forging its own path, others may enjoy the constant fussing and supervision given to the particular cultivars grown in the States. This was one of my biggest struggles while over there.

I believe I am a good parent, worrying when I should but also giving my children enough rope to explore and enjoy without constantly hovering and shielding them from every possible eventuality. Maintaining the belief that I am a responsible parent was challenged with every trip I made to the shops with the kids, and every walk we took down a sidewalk in a big city. There was always someone there to comment on how dangerous ‘insert chosen activity’ was; hiding under clothing racks in the shops, helping mum choose items off a shelf, jumping in the snow on the sidewalk, scooting down a hill, being further than 3 meters from me at any given time – it was exhausting, but the list was endless. Shop attendants fussed and passersby in the street commented. I can’t imagine what they would have done had they seen our kids climbing mountains or bouldering in the scary outdoors. There is most certainly a balance and obviously children can’t be left to their own devices entirely, but I felt like things were often a bit screwy with American parents, pandering and protecting younger children but letting high school age kids run amok, with teens telling parents when they are going out instead of asking, and fostering a culture of ‘what we want when we want it’ regardless of the consequences. I’m not saying South African teens are exempt from this, but it just feels amplified and mostly condoned there.

I am also certainly not saying this about everyone in or from the States, this is a general feel, more prominent in some areas than others, but what I can say is that when my South African friend introduced me to an American mum who let her 3 year old drink water from a fountain out of another child’s shoe, I immediately warmed to her. So there definitely are parents in the States who parent like I do, but they seem to be few and far between. I often felt judged, criticised, and as a result completely stressed out and on edge when I was out with the kids. I freaked out more, I reprimanded more, and behaved a bit like a Mum I would ordinarily feel sympathy for. This played no small part in our wanting our relaxed and happy Cape Town.

There are most certainly things about the States that we will miss, like not having to glue your handbag to your hip or having at least 7 shop attendants on hand making sure you can find what you need, but as far as we are concerned, good customer service and reduced crime just doesn’t beat a country with as much to offer as ours, despite the incredible things we saw in our 5 months there. Growing up in a third world country, the impressions most of us have about first world countries is hugely inaccurate, we believe there are no problems, that they have it all sorted. We give our country too little credit and always imagine everywhere else to be better. While the crime and poverty are definitely less, they have been replaced with other problems, it seems people are incapable of living without them. Visiting a ‘promised land’ like America offers a perspective on our own that is both inspiring and heartwarming. We have many issues in our country and it certainly isn’t all easy sailing, but no one chooses to live in Africa because it’s easy, you choose to live in Africa because of what it has to offer. To impart some of our newfound perspective, we are truly lucky to be able to call Africa our home. This land is something special, I hope everyone gets a chance to see that.

Interestingly, and absolutely coincidently, I am about to head out for the evening with 3 great girl friends, all of whom are American! I hope I don’t get a beating for my only half glowing account of their beautiful country 🙂

Ps. If you have somehow read this post in isolation, please read all my tales of how incredible American soil is! It truly is amazing. This is a post on how happy we are to be home… we certainly gushed about the States while we were there though! Xxx

Feb 03
1
Silly times with my handsome hubby

A Rare Moment of Clarity

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Since I was a little girl, I’ve spent hours daydreaming, making plans about what I would do with my life, where I would live, how I would live and who it would be with. Some of you know me as a list girl – that is not a new thing. I have had lists running in my head ever since I can remember.

This evening at dinner, I voiced something to Shaun that solicited only a wry smile and a knowing nod from him. I told him, that over the last few weeks, I had been thinking quite a lot about my life and how it had panned out. The fact that I had done almost nothing the way I had planned to, bar my profession, but that was always hazy so hard to go wrong there. I was going to get married at 26, to a gorgeous dark haired man, preferably Spanish. We were going to have 3, maybe 4 kids. The first was going to be a boy, so he could look after his younger sister, and I was happy to not plan the sexes of the rest. My kids were going to have straight dark hair, and I spent hours toying with how long I would let my son grow his hair before he reached that critical stage where strangers comment on your ‘daughter’ instead of your son. There is a crucial limit there! I was going to have my first child at 28 and space them every 2 years so the gap wasn’t too big or too small…..

I know most of you are starting to see a pattern here. Firstly, Shaun is not Spanish. Not even if I trace his roots waaaay back!… so I knew I was starting to veer off course. Not a train smash right, I could still mother the dark haired kids I’d spent hours daydreaming about.
…And then there was Lola. Girl, blond, curly… Beautiful.

Of my list of plans, I got the ‘… gorgeous’ and ‘… man’ part right, and that’s about it. I married a surfer-blond, long curly haired, hippy man, 2 years before I had on my plan. Had my first child a year before I turned 28. My second the very next year, in the wrong order, and have subsequently waited substantially more than 2 years for the next.

But it has taken me 31 years, travelling many thousands of kilometers from home and being out of my comfort zone, to realise that my plans could never have turned out as wonderfully, or perfectly suited to me, as my life has, and I can stop worrying that I’m 2 years past when I should have had my 3rd baby! It might sound ridiculous, but I am still trying to ‘plan’ even though I’m so useless at it, instead of just enjoying the tiny particulars that make my life mine, and rolling with the changes when I decide to change my mind!

Shaun has never been a ‘plan man’, and my pathetic attempt at making plans has always fitted in really well with his attitude. So all these years of planning when we will do something, and how it will be done, has been something he’s been happy to indulge, because it almost never happens that way. So tonight at dinner when I got the wry smile and knowing nod, I knew he had been waiting a long time for me to grasp this insight, and while this realisation might not look so profound on paper, I feel an overwhelming sense of relaxation about my life. I don’t have to follow the plans I made when I was ten, and if I don’t actually know what my plan is, then that is ok too. It is a liberating feeling to have opened a chapter that hasn’t been written in yet.