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| Contents |
Issue No. 295 -- 5/12 July 2004 |
Editor's Message
Quote/s of the Week
Ad Hoc Article/s of the Week
Bits and Bobs
The Legal Beagle
Help Desk
Where are they now?
Club and Other News
Humour
Recipes
Sports News
Credits and Contact Info
Subscribing and Unsubscribing
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Apologies for the non-delivery of SAWmail this past week. We managed to move just about all our 'stuff' to the new offices - but due to the wondrous monopoly of Telkom, we were not able to get our ADSL lines moved across in the same timeous manner that yours truly and the rest of the THOS team had moved all the furniture and fittings etc. Sigh... so we are in one office and our line is still in our old office. Seems it's the same old Telkom... please be patient... your call will be answered'!
Enough of the downside of moving! Everyone likes the new offices - so we are all keen to get things on the go again!
Hope you enjoy the bumper issue this week!
These from me...
The U.S. Constitution doesn't guarantee happiness, only the pursuit of it. You have to catch up with it yourself. - Benjamin Franklin
It seems, in fact, as though the second half of a man's life is made up of nothing but the habits he has accumulated during the first half. - Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevski
I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. 'Tis the business of little minds to shrink, but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death. - Thomas Paine
This from John Wilson johndwilson@mac.com
I saw some graffiti on Rondebosch station many years ago and rather liked it. How did it go?
"Jesus saves - Moses invests!"
Send in any quotes you love... that have some special meaning for you... and I will use at least one every week. Usual address! saw@thos.co.za
| Ad Hoc Article/s of the Week |
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Please note that these articles DO NOT NECESSARILY REPRESENT the opinion of SAW, The House of SYNERGY (THOS) or your editor. They are published here for your consideration - you can agree, disagree or ignore, but please don't shoot the messenger!
SAWs are a diverse group of people with diverse opinions on many issues.
Rugby Quotes
This from Marlene Smith
It is about tradition and respect. There is enormous respect between the two teams and each time I have played them it has been an enjoyable experience. Joost, pre-match
I don't want to tempt fate, but I have never lost a match - Super 12 or international - in which Louis Koen and I have been partners. Joost again, pre-match
It's not as big as it used to be, there is a bit of a gap now and they [New Zealand] seem to have the upper hand. Ollie Le Roux
We won't read too much into this score, we just couldn't hang onto the ball for long enough and when their back three got hold of it they punished us. Corne Krige
It was just one of those games where everything went well for us. Reuben Thorne
Yes, it's time to panic. THIS was the rugby equivalent of a car wreck. Clinton van der Berg
Stefan Terblanche is depriving a circus somewhere of a clown. Dan Nicholl
That's weird,I just can't understand why he would suddenly mention my name. It's bullsh*t! Grant Esterhuizen
Is Straeuli on laughing gas? Cape Times headline on the inclusion of Gus Theron
Sid Nomis, the greatest Jew since Moses! Toit Danhauser at a luncheon in honour of Tom van Vollenhoven, Springbok wing
Is the grass greener?
This from Lucy luce@iprimus.com.au
Hi Maureen
Thanks, ed, for yet anaother thought-provoking edition of SAW.
I especially enjoyed reading 'ramblings of a francophobe' - and echoed his disapointment at not having my permanent residence recognised for the 13 years of my life I lived and loved there. (I haven't even looked into the process of moving back but suspect it's as onerous as any other country's process is nowadays.) I left in 83 on a quick trip to visit my parents in the Uk and life sped me off on another track, which means that it is almost 21 yrs that I have been away from what I still call home. I think wherever we spend our formative years has a huge impact, and for me, growing up as a teenager in the seventies and nursing there in the early eighties in SA is something I will always cherish.
I have a constant yen to return but now feel unsure about how life really is there - I grew up in Jhb, lived in Berea, Hillbrow and to think that it is now a 'no go area run by Nigerian drug barons' is sad, as it was once so vibrant. Would I really have to live within high walls, security systems and look over my shoulder all the time? (For a while, I lived in the USA and felt the paranoia around me, and the fear in people's eyes, and that was restricting enough.) I also now am the mother of four children, so might feel more insecure back in SA than I do currently in Australia. But still, I dream about it at night, miss much about it and wonder how my long lost friends and lovers might be doing.
On the other hand, it could all be a midlife crisis thang - the desire to return to nostalgia. Maybe the grass is green on both sides, and I can beat the cravings by trying a visit.
What comments do others have on this? Do write and let me know!
Lucy
The Good News - SA companies 3rd in world as employers of women in top jobs
Recent statistics released after a survey by accounting and consulting firm Grant Thornton, give concrete proof that women have taken their rightful place amongst the leaders of business and government in South Africa over the past ten years.
Not only does the Cabinet now have one of the highest proportions of women (almost half) in any government in the world, but according to the annual Grant Thornton International Business Owners Survey, South Africa has the third highest proportion worldwide of companies employing women as senior managers. 75% of businesses in South Africa employ women in senior management positions, far higher than the global average of 59%.
According to the survey, Russia has the highest proportion (89%) of companies where women occupy a management role, followed by the Philippines (85%). The US and Mexico are at joint third place with South Africa at 75%, while coming in last are The Netherlands and Pakistan (27%), Japan at 29% and Germany at 33%.
When looking at the percentage of senior management that is made up of women in each country, the positions internationally are similar. South Africa comes in at eighth in the world, with 26% of senior management positions occupied by women. This beats the rather pitiful international average of 19% of senior management positions that are occupied by women.
Russia came in first again, almost reaching full gender parity, with 42% of senior management posts held by women. They were followed by the Philippines at 39%, while in the US women only hold 20% of total senior jobs. Coming in at the bottom of the pack once again was Japan, where just 8% of senior management is made up of women. The Netherlands does only slightly better, with 9%.
Other figures for South Africa show that the number of small and medium-sized companies owned by women in South Africa grew to 39.5% in 2003. Women now occupy 24% of middle management and 28% of junior management positions.
The figures coincide by chance with the release of a new book about working women in South Africa, called "Inspirational Women at Work", and its Afrikaans version, "Inspirerende Vroue aan die Werk". The book focuses on the new face of leadership in South Africa, characterized by the increasingly important role played by women, the empowerment of women in business, and the role that women play in making South African business globally competitive.
Edited by Lisel Erasmus-Kritzinger, "Inspirational Women at Work" tells the stories of 52 inspiring South African women, including Transnet CEO Maria Ramos, World Bank MD Mamphela Rampele, former MP Helen Suzman, leader of the Independent Democrats Patricia de Lille, TV talk show host Felicia Mabuza-Suttle, SA Tourism CEO Cheryl Carolus, Pam Golding Properties Chairperson Pam Golding, and singer Miriam Makeba. The book looks at what inspires them, the challenges they have faced and how they are making a difference in the lives of other women and South Africa as a whole.
CEO of the International Marketing Council, Yvonne Johnston, believes that South African women are key ambassadors of the South African brand, "South Africa: Alive with Possibility", who are motivating other women to succeed in their lives. All the contributors to the book agreed to donate their fees to the Miriam Makeba Home for Girls, and all proceeds from sales will go towards women's empowerment projects.
For more interesting and exciting news about developments in South Africa, subscribe to the International Marketing Council's regular BrandSA newsletter by visiting www.imc.org.za/goodstuff.htm or www.imc.org.za/subscribe.asp. You can also visit the South African gateway website at www.southafrica.info.
9 Ways to Motivate Yourself When You Just Don't Feel Like It - By Skye Thomas
Achieving the really big goals and dreams always involves breaking it down into do-able little steps. Assuming that you've picked a goal or dream that you really love working at, then most of the steps are a delight to take. No matter how much you love your dream and no matter how much you love your work, there are going to be tasks along the way that you really don't want to do. Those pieces of work that we hate doing can be the very ones that sabotage our success. How do you stay motivated during those parts of the journey?
1) Reward yourself. Let's say that I want to lose twenty pounds. That's not too much, but it's still going to involve more days of self discipline that I feel like doing. So, I reward myself with a little treat every time I drop five pounds. I get to have one of my favorite fattening meals at the end of each five pound loss. Then I go back to my diet. At the end, I get to go on a shopping spree to buy new clothes. Come up with a reward that you can use to motivate yourself.
2) Do it for love of someone else. My teenage son proposed a deal that works for both of us. I don't smoke cigarettes and he doesn't experiment with drugs. Every time one of us is about to give in to temptation, our love for each other stops us. I can't light up knowing that he might start doing drugs because I broke our deal. He hates the idea of me dying of cancer, so he never touches any kinds of drugs offered to him by his peers. The love of someone else can motivate you to do what you otherwise might not be able to do for yourself.
3) Trade work with someone else. I've watched my kids perfect this style of motivation. My son will offer to scrub out the showers if my daughter will do the dishes for him. Hiring someone to do the work you don't want to do is actually a form of trade. Barter or pay someone else to do it for you, so that you can continue moving forward with your dreams.
4) Truly consider quitting. I'm not telling you to quit, but to really think about it. If you've got a goal or dream that means a lot to you and you've already invested a large part of yourself into making it happen, then what would quitting feel like? Is avoiding the difficult or distasteful task worth giving up on your goals and dreams? The love of your long-term goal can motivate you not to quit.
5) Share the misery. This reminds me of friends in college getting together to study for an upcoming test. Having friends along can make the experience more festive then it would have been if you were doing it alone. Is there a way to team up with a friend so that the work is easier or at least more enjoyable?
6) Just get it over with. One of my all time favorite quotes about getting past your inner blocks was written by Stuart Wilde in his book The Quickening, "Cut the shit and do the thing." Yeah it's a bit rough, but we all know those stoic tough people who simply roll up their sleeves and dive in know matter how much they may hate the task before them. Take on a soldier's mindset and just get to work doing the ugly parts so you can move on to the more rewarding parts of making your dreams a reality.
7) Get training or education. Quite often, we don't like doing something because deep down we don't think we know how or that we are talented enough. So, get the education, do the research, learn the necessary skills, or whatever else it is that you need to do to get ready for taking that next step. Once you've properly trained yourself, then you might even be enthusiastic about taking that next step.
8) Take a running start at it. Think of riding your bike uphill. It doesn't take kids very long to figure out that the best way to get that bicycle to the top of the steep hill is to build up a lot of speed before you even get to the base of the hill. You then let that momentum help to propel you most of the way up. Heck, with enough of a running start you can sometimes make it all the way up without any major struggles. If there is a way to pace yourself and reschedule the not so fun parts of accomplishing your goals until after you've completed a bunch of the cool parts, then do so. The highs of your mini successes will help inspire you to push past the parts that you are avoiding.
9) Figure out a different way to do it. This is the supreme way to avoid doing the task all together. Be creative, be smart, think outside the box. Is there any way to make your dream come true without having to actually do the specific duty that you're wanting to avoid? Sometimes you can find another way. Other times, just knowing that there is definitely no other path to your dreams other than the one before you is enough to motivate you to just buck up and get through it.
What's most important is not how you keep yourself motivated but that you keep the long-term benefits of your goals in mind. If you focus too much on avoiding the uncomfortable parts of accomplishing your goals, then you won't accomplish much. Find a way to keep going and remember that all things come with a price. Pay the price so you can get on with enjoying the dream.
Copyright 2004, Skye Thomas, Tomorrow's Edge
About the author:
Skye Thomas is the CEO of Tomorrow's Edge, an Internet leader in inspiring leaps of faith. She became a writer in 1999 after twenty years of studying spirituality, metaphysics, astrology, personal growth, motivation, and parenting. Her books and articles have inspired people of all ages and faiths to recommit themselves to the pursuit of happiness. After years of high heels and business clothes, she is currently enjoying working from home in her pajamas. To read more of her articles, sign up to receive her free weekly newsletter, and get free previews of her books go to
www.TomorrowsEdge.net.
Mind Massage - Transparancy
Transparency is considered positive these days, so I don't know why folks persist in using the term "empty" instead of "clear"...
You've heard it before: meditate to cultivate an empty mind.
Hmm. I'm not sure that idea is so inspiring.
Here's a look at the "mind like water" concept, and a vote for clear over empty.
Clearly yours,
Maya ;-)
Clear Mind, Empty Head: A Leak In "Mind Like Water"
There's a lot of talk in meditation circles about emptying the mind. This is a roadblock for many people. Why? Because it's counterintuitive.
After all, we spend most of our waking hours filling up our minds. We go to school, we get trained, we read, we learn, we absorb information from all around us. Then someone comes along and tells us that the best thing we can do is EMPTY our mind? Why would we want to do that?
Empty isn't a good thing in most cases. Empty wallet? Empty gas tank? Empty bank account? Empty restaurant? These aren't conditions we find satisfying. Mention your feelings of "emptiness" to your doctor and you may end up with a prescription for Prozac. Would you take it as a compliment if someone referred to you as "empty-headed"? Not likely.
We seek fullness in our bellies, our hearts and our lives. Going for empty goes against the grain.
We've already got plenty of reasons to avoid meditation. It seems difficult, uncomfortable, or just plain boring to a lot of newcomers. We don't need any semantic obstacles. Hearing that little voice saying, "Your mind is not empty--you're lousy at this!" only adds to the clutter that muddies our spirit, fogs our intention, and paralyzes our progress.
We must relinquish this expectation that we are supposed to attain this state of emptiness--complete non-thinking--in order to have a good meditation session. Staying attached to this ideal is likely to provide just one more nudge in the never-mind direction.
David Allen is a productivity trainer and consultant who is the author of Getting Things Done: The Art of Stress-Free Productivity. He offers some tips for dealing with the clutter that crowds our minds so that we can free up space for greater creativity.
Like Jim Ballard in his book called Mind Like Water: Keeping Your Balance In A Chaotic World, Allen uses the martial arts term to describe the process of preparing our mind for appropriate responses to demands. Having a "mind like water" refers to one's ability to react and reflect in a balanced way. If you drop a stone in a still pond, the ripples will appear in a direct, appropriate response to the force and mass of that stone. Nothing more, nothing less. As the ripples dissipate, the pond returns to stillness.
That's a great way to look at how our minds respond when we feel relaxed and stress-free. We don't snap at our kids or get cranky with our co-workers. We get our tasks completed in a way that is efficient and without unnecessary action, emotion, or distraction. We have a point to which we return continually as we go through our day. There is no overreaction or failure to respond.
Still. Ripple. Still.
The only leak in this "mind like water" discussion is that Allen sticks with the tried-and-true "empty mind" terminology. That's too bad. It would have been a perfect opportunity to switch to clear!
When the "empty mind" concept becomes a barrier, slip into "clear mind" instead. After all, a pond is not empty. It is clear. Plenty of water. Rocks and mud at the bottom. Fish swimming here and there. If the water is clear, you can see it all and the finest details become magnified as they pop into view.
The important aspect is our ability to see whatever we need to see. What happens when you toss a stone into an empty pond? Not much. It makes a thud on the muddy bottom. Sure, you can see it. But what's the point?
Your mind will continue to have thoughts. Don't expect to avoid them. Drop the idea that you can remain "thoughtless" and embrace the value of seeing those thoughts clearly.
You've spent years filling your head. Mindfulness gives you the clarity to see what's going on in there without having to dump the contents first. By releasing the notion of emptiness, you can step into the power of clarity.
Empty mind? Clear mind? Choose the image that works for you.
I'll cast my vote for clear.
Thanks, Mark!
Thanks to Mark F., an attorney in Edinburgh, UK for suggesting David Allen's use of the "mind like water" concept as an interesting mind massage topic. Mark received a copy of my ebook, "Massage Your Mind!: Defining Your Life Philosophy" as a thank you.
Got an idea? Send it in, and if I use it, I'll make you slightly famous for a brief moment by mentioning you here...and you'll get some summer reading, too!
Send your ideas to maya@massageyourmind.com
I Can See Clearly Now...
...the rain is gone. Summer is busting out here in western Oregon after last week's cloudiness. A Spontaneous WOO to that!
Here's a question for you: what's your favorite summertime mindful moment? What normal daily activity invites you to be present, pay attention, and revel in the perfection of summer?
Tell me about it, and if I include it here, I'll send you a complimentary copy of my ebook to kickstart a few more of those mindful moments....
Those of you experiencing winter right now may use this opportunity to remember warmer days. ;-)
Send your thoughts to me at
mailto:maya@massageyourmind.com
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Maya Talisman Frost is a mind masseuse. Her work has inspired thinkers in over 80 countries. This article appeared in the Friday Mind Massage, a free weekly ezine serving up a satisfying blend of clarity, comfort and comic relief. To subscribe, visit http://www.massageyourmind.com.
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©Copyright 2004, Maya Talisman Frost
52 Best Stories - Voyage of Independence
Good Morning Maureen,
The 52Best stories are a way for me to express my strong feelings concerning individual and national respect for not only U.S. citizens but for all people on Earth. If we are going to make it as a race another thousand or another million years, we must listen as well as speak.
Last week's story for me emphasized the need for us as a nation to be responsible in all our dealings throughout the world. BUT, as I reread the commencement speech, it was possible to interpret the story to be political in nature. Thank you for the MANY comments that were both pro and con. I hear you. I learned.
The 52Best stories are not a political venue and will not be used as such, but I do consider 52Best a venue that advocates responsibility, respect, and positive action. May the stories always reflect this.
With Kind Regards, Sandy
Today's Story
Eighteen years. Who would have thought I would have even been around eighteen years? A lot of people including myself thought I would have been dead by now. My whole life has been a near death experience. From the moment of my birth to this very day I have been around death. There are even gunshots going by my window as I write this. Shootings in my city are so common that the local Catholic school is trying to make bullet proof vests part of the school uniform.
Let me stop. I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm going to take it back seven years. The day was March 16, 1996. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the day before my 12th birthday.
That day I woke up to my mother crying. Since I was the only man in the house I thought it was my job to protect the house and everyone in it. So I got out of bed and went over to my mother's doorway. I stood there and took a look at my mother. She was sitting on her bed looking at a picture. A picture of my dad with his arms around my mother and I. My father died in the Cuban army a year and a half ago.
She looked a mess. Her hair looked as if she put her finger in an outlet. She had lines of mascara running down her face. I walked over to my mother, sat down beside her, and in a sympathetic voice I said,
"Everything is going to be ok. I miss dad, too."
My mother wiped her face clear of tears. In what sounded like a mumble she said, "No, mi hijo. How could you forget? Do you know what tomorrow is? How could you forget what tomorrow is?"
I sat there thinking. I didn't understand what she was talking about. I replied,
"Tomorrow is my birthday. I don't know what you're talking about."
She looked in my brown eyes, said loud and clear," Tomorrow you join the army!" I was shocked and in disbelief. How could I forget such a thing?
In the country of Cuba at the age 12 you have to join the Cuban army. You have no choice. If you try and fight it you are shot dead. No prison, no fine, just death.
For countless hours I sat there on my mother's bed. Crying like a little baby. Thinking of possible ways I could get out of this. But I thought of nothing. I was thinking of my father. Wishing he was here. When I was young he used to always get me out of trouble and make my problems go away. But I guess that wasn't going to happen this time.
My mother told me to go lay down on my bed for a little while. As I walked to my room I heard the door close. I guess my mother had to do something. About a half an hour later she returned. She walked in my bedroom and told me to get ready to go. As I was getting dressed I could smell my mother cooking up some food. It smelled good.
My mother called me over to the kitchen. I sat down at the table. She gave me a big plate of food. As I was eating we spoke a lot about things. Including my Aunt Cookie. My Aunt Cookie now lives in America. Florida I believe. She is one of the few our "great" dictator, Fidel Castro, let leave the country. That is very rare. You have a better chance of winning the lottery and getting struck by lighting twice on the same day. From what I hear, she went to school and then on to a local college.
When we were finished my mom told me to put my shoes on cause we had to do something. As we were walking down the road my mother started to cry again. She told that she wanted me to leave Cuba and go to my Aunt's house in America. I tried to argue with her but I had no luck.
As we came closer to the beach I became nervous. And it increased with every step. As we were walking I was trying to wake up. I thought I could possibly be dreaming. But that was a failure also. You could tell if you'd seen all the black and blue marks on my arm. Due to all the times I pinched myself trying to wake up from this nightmare.
By the time we reached the beach it was nightfall. In the distance, I had seen a wooden log raft. I guess that is what my mother went to do. When we reached the water my mother gave me a compass, a picture of the family, twenty dollars and directions to my aunt's house. After she gave me everything she gave me a big hug. I thought my head was going to bust because she hugged me so tight.
She told me to go. And that she'd see me later. The both of us knew we wouldn't see each other again. I turned around and looked at my mother. It is a sight I could never forget. My mother, on her knees crying, in front of a picture of Fidel Castro. With the Cuban flag above her flapping in the wind.
I jumped off the raft and swam back to my mother. I had to give her one last hug and kiss before I left. When I reached her, I ran into her arms and gave her a long hug. She told me I had to go or I'd be caught by Castro. So I swam back to the raft. I started to paddle. It was not easy. I had to get the raft over the waves. I nearly fell over twice. But I made it. I paddled late into the night.
It was now sunrise. I was tired and I could barely move my arms. I figured it would be best to rest now and continue at night. I tried to sleep but I couldn't. All day I sat there staring at pictures of my family. Wishing I was still with my mother. It was my birthday and I was here stuck on a raft. Every once in a while I would look at my compass to make sure I was going straight.
It was mid-afternoon and I decided to get going. It started to drizzle and it would not be easy to paddle in a storm during the dark. I paddled past nightfall. It had to be around one or two in the morning. The rain was coming down hard. The wind started to pick up. Waves were getting bigger. Then out of nowhere, Bang! I started to drown but I was able to get myself over one of the logs from the raft. I fell asleep.
When I woke up I found myself on a beach. I was shocked. I looked around trying to see if I could see any clues of were I was. I didn't see any Cuban flags or big posters of Castro. I walked off the beach and saw a long row of houses. They didn't look one bit like they did in Cuba. Then finally I saw an American flag. I was so happy; I dropped on my knees and kissed the ground.
For hours I walked around the street until someone drove up to me and asked me if I needed help. I told him I was trying to get to my aunt's house. He offered me a ride. When I reached the door of my aunt's house I didn't know what to do. I knocked on the door and she answered. She knew what I had just got finished doing.
That was years ago. Since then I became a citizen. I have gone to school. And I'm one of the top people in my school. I have dreams of one day getting involved in the government so I can help my fellow people.
~ The Author is Cuban now United States citizen Omar Couceiro II ~
http://www.52best.com/voyage.asp
One Man's Australia
Three cousins
On Sunday morning I watched Luke, Gobble and Bub happily mauling each other before being taken to Nan and Pops (Strine for grandma and grandpa) for a full-family lunch.
It was the first full-family lunch that Robyn and Alan had had since Bub had his liver transplant on Good Friday.
I am not immediate family and the winter day was good enough to bottle and sell, so I got the BMW out of the garage and headed off for some two-wheel therapy.
Alas - I was too confident and, while I was wearing full motorcycle gear above the waist and had electric heated handlebars, I was wearing jeans. So my legs started to cramp from the cold wind after about an hour.
Knotted hamstrings cannot hold a ¼-ton touring motorcycle upright so I had to cut the ride short.
Sunday was also the first time I had seen Bub since his transplant. I was seeing it but having difficulty believing my eyes.
When I last saw him he looked like ET and was not much bigger than a rat. He was caramel coloured - even to the whites of his eyes. According to the comments of the doctors (since the transplant) he had only weeks to live when the liver became available.
What I saw on Sunday was an active, alert, blue eyed blonde baby boy, well fleshed out and locked onto a bottle of formula like a suction pump.
The change started on the operating table with a drop in his bilirubin count of better than half before the end of the surgery. In the week that followed his first teeth broke through and he could hold his head up - the first time he had been able to do that.
The three photos of him were taken in hospital during the third week after surgery.
.jpg)
However his recovery has not been without its dramas. For the first fortnight he was nursed in a sterile, pressurised, ward with Jo and Michael gowned and masked when they were with him. Then, as he would have to face the world again the world was introduced to him gradually..jpg)
His first visitor was his 4 year old brother Luke - who yelled with joy and hugged him. Unbeknownst to Michael and Jo, however, Luke was starting a cold. Bub caught it and developed pneumonia. So the hospital had to take time to sort that out..jpg)
Then Fiona and Gobble were introduced. He and Gobble squealed happily at each other and mercifully she did not transmit any nasties that caused problems.
Then Jo cared for him under supervision at the hospital. She lived there for a couple of weeks in addition to the weeks she had spent living there during his immediate post-operative phase. She has been through a steep learning curve as his drug regime is extensive and complex and she has to take samples daily for analysis at the hospital.
Bub is now home, but has to visit the hospital a couple of times a week.
It has been a tough road for the in-laws. From the day Bub was born Jo and Michael were locked into a struggle to keep him alive - so Luke has been looked after by his grandparents and assorted aunts in rotation. Three-year-old eldest children can be expected to regress somewhat in their behavior when a first sibling arrives and displaces them from being the epicentre of their parents' universe.
In Luke's case the entire universe was blasted apart and he regressed - in spades. Among other things toilet training (accomplished a couple of years earlier) went out of the window. And what is manageable with a baby becomes a BIG issue with a kid close to his fourth birthday.
Strangely enough I had fewer problems with him than any of the family - probably because I had limited exposure. And perhaps because I could react to him for what he is - a very intelligent and acutely observant boy with an intrinsically friendly and cheerful nature - without having to address discipline issues.
But that is (mostly) behind them now. Toilet training is back, Luke is at pre-school and looking forward to starting "real school" in January at 4 years and 9 months.
Which suddenly reminds me that Gobble will be starting "real school" three years later at 4 years and 8 months.
Bub is now being progressively introduced to more people to broaden his tolerance of the infection pool "out there".
.jpg) But with typical laid-back Australian pragmatism he has a sign on his stroller/pram that says "Hi, I have had a liver transplant. I would appreciate it if you would keep your germs away from me as my immune system is suppressed. Thank you."
On a personal note Gobble is also a blue eyed blonde as you can see from the fourth photo, taken of her back at Christmas when she was only slightly older than Bub was when the first three photos were taken.
But then Fiona is the middle of three sisters - all blue eyed blondes.
There is a tough gene running there. The girls are descended from convicts who arrived in June 1789 with 1/3 having died en route, so I guess that only the fittest survived.
Northern Lighties
Well, Well, Well!
So you can fool some of the people all of the time!
And all of the pollsters most of the time!
Not that I have any sympathy for the pollsters at all. I am waiting with baited breath to see whether the Martin Government will renege on its promises and treat the electorate as badly as their Provincial cousins before I make my judgement on the electorate.
Interestingly the same bunch of unthinking sheep that voted in the Ontario Liberals kept the Martin regime in power in Ottawa.
This has to be one of the best examples of an election where fear, fraud and Provincialism were the major motivators when it came to the electorate's pattern of vote casting.
It was my first chance to cast a vote in my new country and so I have been following all the ruckus with more interest than I may normally have done. Even though I am really a political animal at heart.
The weeks leading up to the election itself were dominated by vicious lies and attack advertising that was breathtaking to say the least. Oddly enough the worst proponents of this were the Liberals who forgot that they despised the United States and used the most cynical manipulation of the truth ever seen North of the border. In true American electioneering style.
So much so that throughout the campaign I searched in vain to find the Liberal platform. Oh! I knew what they told me the Conservatives would do if they won.
Harper would suddenly sprout horns and overnight the country would have concentration camps where gays, women and immigrants would be incarcerated.
Perhaps the most cynical hypocrisy was the Liberals use of the Canadian Flag (slowly dissolving as the Conservatives took power) as a tool to denote that they, and only they, were "TRUE PATRIOTS" and representative of Canada.
Oddly enough they used every American nasty trick to try to prove that the Conservatives were Americans in disguise intent on making Canada into a 53rd State.
Even odder was their campaign, which basically went "vote for the devil you know"!!!
Now to me that means that they actually admitted their guilt in many of the issues that weren't being debated and were asking the electorate to vote them in still because at least the electorate knew they were thieves and liars but who knows what the Conservatives would do.
Bizarre.
And yet…….the electorate in the GTA actually did just that!
I make that claim justifiably by the way. If it weren't for all the seats in the GTA going to the Liberal candidate then the Liberals would not be in the position of being a minority Government today.
As it is the results were interesting.
The Liberals got 135 seats. The Conservatives 99. The Bloc Quebecois 54. The NDP 19 and then there was one independent.
You need 155 seats to form a majority Government so the Liberals fell far short of that. Form a strong majority Government they now have to rely on the other parties to help them get business conducted.
The Conservatives aren't likely to agree to rubber stamp Liberal promises. They want their own share of the trough later on.
The Bloc are intent on dissolving Canada and becoming a country in their own right. So they aren't likely to agree to anything unless it includes sovereignty for Quebec.
That leaves the NDP and one independent.
The NDP would demand every last ounce of taxpayers blood in order to give every homeless person a bike and a free drug of choice so that may prove to be an expensive option and anyway that would still fall one vote short of a majority.
So we have a minority Government and one that is still reeling from the fall out of all the lies and corruption they have been caught out in. They promised billions to the gullible during the campaign, which is going to be interesting when it comes to actually delivering.
Mind you their provincial counterparts have given up all pretence at making good on their lies during the local election.
Actually I am still astonished that after the way they were sucked into voting for the Liberals in Ontario, who have reneged on 90% of their promises, the local sheep went ahead and cast their vote for their Federal counterparts.
Maybe I am not.
The GTA comprises masses of immigrants, most of whom would vote for the party that allowed them into Canada. In addition the local media played on the fear of the unknown and were a very adroit propaganda arm of the Liberal party.
Then there was the curious incident of my Sons vote!
I did mention sometime ago that my son was signed up at University as a voter. That he was sent a voters registration card. Despite not being a Canadian citizen.
Well I checked up on the day as well and there, bold as brass, was his name under mine and when I inquired I was told that he still had time to vote.
So I mentioned my concerns to the authorities.
Interestingly the political parties in this election decided the levels of authority. So the Manager overseeing the station was decided by the Liberals while the managers at each booth were decided by the Conservatives.
So when I mentioned my concerns, the booth manager made a notation next to his name that he couldn't vote etc. while the station manager was so unconcerned and blasé that it made me wonder just what the hidden agenda may have been.
As it is I think that most of the students voted for the Green Party anyway. My Sons choice incidentally. So I think that if there was some shenanigans taking place, and remember we are talking about the Liberals here, it probably backfired anyway.
The one aspect of voting in this country that I really find astonishing is how bland and boring the actual voting day process is.
No Candidates trying to shake your hand.
No party tents making last minute pleas for support.
No posters or stickers or hats or balloons.
No Koeksisters or Melktert for the faithful!!
So damn Canadian in fact.
So the next few years will be interesting. Historically a minority Government hasn't lasted that long.
About two years on average. Just long enough for the voters to discover that they have been lied to again.
We wait with baited breath for the first cracks to appear in a very fragile unity.
Ramblings Of A Francophobe
Last Saturday, whilst many of the local members of our South African Club were enjoying a Commonwealth/South African lunch, I was enjoying myself just a few hundred miles away, but in a country so different to France that it is hard to imagine that such a short distance separates the two.
Just 90 minutes after take off, a smart little Malev Bombardier 50 seater regional jet touched down at Budapest's Ferihegy airport. The last time I'd visited Hungary it was well and truly entrenched behind the Iron Curtain, although fortunately the horrors of the communist dictatorship did not totally mask the beauty of the country and the pride and optimism of its people. It was only in 1991 that the last Russian soldiers left the country, and since the fall of communism the Hungarians, with typical pragmatism, have turned the trappings of the evil regime into tourist attractions, with a large park on the outskirts of the city where statues of the deposed dictators have been set up, and a Museum of Terror on Andrassy Avenue, one of Budapest's main avenues.
As I boarded my Malev flight, I was not aware of any of this, my mind replaying some horrendous flights of earlier years on ancient creaking Ilyushins and Tupolevs that plied the routes to and from Eastern Europe, with cabin service, such as it was, offered by off duty Soviet style weightlifters with full moustaches - and that was just the females. This time, my Malev plane was clean and modern with leather seats, attractive stewardesses who knew how to smile, and a seat belt which did not come apart in my hands when I tightened it. I also got a meal tastier than the cardboard box it came in - this used to be the other way round.
I spent two weeks in this delightful and historic city, giving myself a weekend break in between at Lake Balaton, the largest lake in Central Europe, around which I travelled by train and ferry. During the course of one train stretch I met three delightful South African sisters from Joey's 'doing a Europe thing'. Amazing how the SA accent carries... I had to walk along to see if I was right and sure enough, the give away was a large Pick 'n Pay bag in the middle of the compartment floor! These ladies were on their way to Zagreb to tour Croatia by car.
And so to last Saturday, the day of the Commonwealth Club lunch. I took a ferry north up the Danube to Szentendre (St. Andrew), where I'd been recommended a restaurant called Rab Raby. It was excellent, and the price of a superb meal washed down with a cooling beer and a couple of glasses of excellent Hungarian wine has just shown up on my credit card statement. €12 including a tip. It was an expensive restaurant!
On the way back to Budapest, as three hefty 'okes' boarded the ferry. I knew intuitively that they were South Africans, and as they climbed to a vantage point on the cabin roof and raised their bottles of Dreher (local beer - the brewery is owned by SAB) they removed all doubt with a loud and heartfelt: "Hope you're all having a lekker time ......" addressed to all and sundry. We teamed up and I don't even remember how many more bottles we got through in the hour's trip downriver. I do remember that they were going to the Opera that night, but after much arm-twisting they persuaded each other, and me, to have a couple more beers, by which time the Opera was well and truly forgotten. We enjoyed an excellent dinner, although I fear the diners around us may not have appreciated our somewhat politically incorrect jokes. Much excellent liquor was consumed in various establishments, despite which I was able to wake up with a clear head in time for a last quick walk to bid a fond 'au revoir' to this lovely city, and to catch my midday flight back to Paris. Derek, Jan, and John, if you should read this, thanks for your company and for the dinner. It was a superb ending to a great trip, and I look forward to going back to Hungary for a family holiday before too long, as it's a safe, friendly, and organised destination offering excellent value for money.
Changing Lanes - Travel 2004
Kimberley -2004
After the peace and tranquillity of unspoiled nature at the Kruger, it was time to head for the interior. Characterised quite simply, by "miles and miles of bugger all", as the sign outside an art gallery in Kimberley itself pronounced, the terrain driving down was dry and dusty scrub, thinning out at stages. We were on the edge of the Karoo. The massive fences enclosed thousands of hectares of private farms, most of them game reserves, making the immensity and desolation of Africa that much more apparent. English farms average only about 400 acres in size and are oozing with green lushness! Something else only rarely seen on larger farms in the drier eastern counties in England, but that dotted almost all the arable farms we passed were the central pivot irrigators, which dispensed their fine mist of that precious commodity water almost lovingly onto the crops below around in a huge circle.
Kimberley the town itself, like its main attraction, but unlike its name suggests, is a hole. The museum and mine save the place from oblivion. With most of the real estate owned by the elite diamond company De Beers, the Big Hole even today still remains the sole reason for the existence and continued life of the town and its surrounds. The town is a motley assortment of old and new buildings, neither providing any lasting impression, all blending into anonymity. There are exceptions, such as the Kimberley Club, which still today carries on the tradition of being a men's only establishment for the rich and powerful. Now, as then, they would sit in their luxurious leather armchairs, smoking their pipes or cigars, debating the highbrow issues of the day, but ultimately coming to no practical or employable solution - a bit like English parliament actually!!!
I'm trying to think of a similar town in England in the same state. Nothing immediately springs to mind, though most of the seaside resort towns I've had the pleasure (?) to visit do have that time-warp feel to them that triggers thoughts of bygone eras and happier, more affluent times.
The accommodation we stayed in throughout our trip was all self-catering, and very well managed. The security precautions were particularly evident in Kimberley where our unit had a solid metal gate, high brick wall and alarm, whilst the entrance was CCTV'ed, intercom dependent, alarmed and electric gate protected. After the freedom of our Kruger lodge, it was a noticeable and restrictive contrast. Security, given the level of crime in England, doesn't take on these proportions. I mean, how long would a car last if it was parked outside a house in Jo'burg?
But back to the mine and museum. The mine was represented by displays of old equipment, a trip through time in machinery, almost all imported then from the monster factories of the Empire. The massive gear head loomed over everything, giving the place a distinct air of authenticity. The Big Hole itself was a let down, as it was only visible through a mesh fence from only 2 viewpoints. A bit like my experience going through Shakespeare's house - all the hype and then a big let down once you got there! The museum element was an impressive recreation of the mining town in the late 1800's when it was a thriving oasis of hope, dreams and riches. There were about four streets of shops and houses, all decorated and stocked with authentic replicas, or in some cases originals, of the tastes, fashions and goods available at the time. It really gave you a sense of the place. The only place I have visited that is in anyway comparable is the open-air museum in Aarhus in Denmark, which also accurately replicated shops and houses through a given chronology of the country's existence.
Battlefields of the Boer war are the other reason people head for Kimberley. And much like the battlefields the world over, they require an active imagination to populate their barren landscapes, with only a hint of a hill or a depression to assist. In other words, if you're looking for spoon-fed history with endless picturesque snapshot opportunities, pass by Kimberley, just as we did the following day!
Taking a detour off the main road, we entered a timeless stretch of landscapes that won't have changed for centuries, with their wind-driven water pumps, and the small dwellings situated with care beneath the scarce shade, out of the relentless heat. Even in winter it showed it's teeth, and made air-con a necessity! As we approached the higher, rockier ground nearer the coast, the rumbling deep grey mass of clouds on the hills created a breathtaking backdrop against the orange-yellow of the wintered vineyards, tinder dry maize and dust-coloured grass. Mark was able to see what I consider one of the most stunning sights that Africa has to offer. Sadly we missed the thunderstorm that we saw coming down in the distance, but he was treated to the smell that epitomises home for me - wet African earth after a storm. We wondered what weather awaited us as we began to climb the winding road up into the mountains along the Outeniqua Pass, heading for the aptly named Wildernis and the wonders of the Garden Route ……
DollarMakers
Getting Better All The Time
It's our seventh year in Canada. We've just celebrated Canada Day, and two years ago we became citizens. We have created our own little history and traditions here and we feel part of the country. What has become more and more evident, as we've dealt with many South Africans here, is that there is a definite "settling in" period for new SA immigrants to establish themselves and get used to the way things work here. The good news is that it gets better and better.
Recently we met a bunch of SA's and we heard the same comments again. Here they are:
"It has taken us a few years to settle down." It does take time to understand how things work, to know what doesn't work, to understand the culture and the work ethic (or lack of it) and who you can trust here. Every SA you meet will regale you with stories of how successful they were in SA, but ultimately the truly successful will again, like cream, rise to the top. Talk is cheap. As time goes by things get easier and we establish ourselves and build our new lives. We make fewer mistakes and learn how to assess things better. You can't speed the process up. Patience helps.
"We don't deal with SA's 'Fresh off the boat'" Many new SA immigrants are negative, extremely arrogant and unteachable. Trying to do business with them is frustrating and time consuming, when you have the option of dealing with others who are aware of what's going on. New SA immigrants don't know that they don't know. All of us have been there. We can help them to fast-track their success, but they don't like to take advice, so we leave them until they're ready. There are exceptions, of course, but we're very careful.
"I'll never work for a boss again" Those who are winners and have experienced working for a boss in Canada usually come to this conclusion sooner or later. In a unionized, over-taxed, "politically correct" (read weak) and socialistic work environment, the strong and intelligent finally rebel and get into their own businesses. Especially with the way the workplace in North America is changing, it makes sense to prevent heart-ache and heart attacks and get out of your job. When they get here, all they want is a good job, then they'll take any job, and as time goes by they don't want any job. See www.dollarmakers.com
"We don't have many SA friends."We believed that we'd meet the "cream of the crop" of SA's here in Vancouver. We were sadly disappointed. There are good and bad, just like in any group of people, and the trick is to meet good people, winners and thinkers, whether they're Canadian or American or SA. And it's natural that you'll end up dealing more with Canadians and Americans than anyone else because that's where we live now. While other communities that are a quarter of the size of the SA community have community radio, newspapers, clubs, etc., the SA's find it hard to work and play together. The good news is that there are some wonderful SA's here and a good SA friend who shares the same culture and background is a valuable asset.
So, for those new SA immigrants anywhere in the world, take heart and be patient. We love living in Canada - it really does get better and better and we've had a great time since Day One. And if things are a little tough for you right now, remember that time will sort everything out. Be proud of who you are, set exciting goals and know that the cream always rises to the top. Learn from those who have been through this process before you, but only if they're really successful. Stay positive remember that what you sow, you will reap. Or, as Anton van Heerden once said, "Robin, I always say, 'As you sow, so shall you mow!'"
Robin J. Elliott www.dollarmakers.com Robin J. Elliott is included in the International Who's Who of Entrepreneurs in 2002.
Boetjie Worldwide
Those on the fringes
[First of all a word of apology for the long absence. We are, however, in the throes of moving house, as we sold our existing home and bought a larger, newer one a bit farther out of the city and in a newer area. That has brought about a tremendous amount of sorting out that needed to be done, and we have also just held a garage sale to get rid of some stuff we do not want to lug with us. On top of this there is, of course, the usual red tape to chew and choke on, what with agents, conveyancers and the bank. So it has been a somewhat hectic time!]
For some strange reason I have recently been thinking about someone whose name I cannot even recall any more, and some of the details of the events surrounding this person and her family are also getting a bit fuzzy, yet the impression made on me at the time is still pretty strong.
It was the year 1957. My parents had just moved from East London to the small town of Douglas, near the confluence of the Orange and Vaal Rivers. I was in Sub. A (now Grade 1) and soon noticed this girl in my class who always seemed separate from the rest. She had an olive complexion, long raven black hair and wistful green eyes. There was something about her that made the other children steer clear of her; an air of differentness, as if she were a foreigner. Afrikaans people in a small platteland town noticed these things very quickly in those days, and they had some trouble accepting strange ones like this girl, whom I shall, for the sake of convenience and this tale, call Annie. As I have said, I cannot for the life of me remember her real name.
We had no idea how long we were going to stay, as the road contract for which my father was the clerk of works was scheduled to be completed in a few months, so we moved into one of the two hotels in town in the meantime. This hotel fronted onto the market square in the middle of town. On the corner diagonally to the left of the hotel there was a rather dark and dilapidated house, always deeply shaded by enormous pepper and eucalyptus trees. The garden was unkempt, the windows usually shuttered. For a while I was convinced that the place was uninhabited. (When, decades later, I read "To Kill a Mockingbird" for the first time, Boo Radley's house in the novel immediately reminded me of this place.)
One chilly winter's afternoon I walked home from school, and as I neared the corner closest to our rooms off the hotel veranda, I noticed that Annie was crossing the street to the "uninhabited" house. I stopped and watched her enter the front door. When, after lunch, I mentioned this to my mother, she told me that she felt very sorry for those people. Now my mother is a great one for making new friends quickly, and I knew she'd struck up a friendship with the old lady who lived across the street, and she had told my mother what she knew about Annie and her parents.
It seems they had arrived there a few months before us. The father was an invalid of some sort, and no-one ever saw anything other than glimpses of him. The mother worked in one of the shops, I believe, but what she did there I have no memory of. However, they were very poor and really battled to manage on what Annie's mother could earn. Annie was the only child. They had moved there from some city or other, and rumour had it that Annie's mother was Spanish or a Gypsy or some such, and she spoke fluent English, a rarity in a place like Douglas at the time, which all explained why they were treated politely, but were effectively shunned all the same. Some of the children at school were even convinced that Annie's mother was a witch!
My mother, kind soul, would not have people treated like that, so one afternoon she sent me across with a note for Annie's mother to invite her to tea. It was with a potent mixture of nervousness and excitement that I knocked on the weather-worn front door. When, after a long while the door was opened, it was Annie who stood in the doorway, the hallway and passage almost impenetrably dark behind her. I handed over the note, and she asked me to wait while she took it to her mother. I stood on the stoep after she had closed the door quietly. A few minutes later she returned to tell me her mother accepted the invitation for the next afternoon.
The next day Annie accompanied her mother, and while the two women were having tea, she and I sat on the veranda, munched on biscuits and eventually started talking. At first the conversation stuttered and nearly fizzled out a few times, but as time passed we got on better. I found myself fascinated by this skinny little girl in her worn winter pinafore. It was so painfully obvious that she was undernourished, yet as she became more at ease it was obvious that she was both intelligent and witty. Soon we were laughing at the antics of my dog's puppies playing on the grass in front of the veranda.
And so our friendship started, a friendship I am now ashamed to admit I kept secret from all except my parents. Even my best friend Hennie J. did not know about it. I would juggle my afternoons between playing marbles or cars with Hennie, playing touch rugby or kennetjie with the other boys, and playing at Annie's house, where we would build a house in her back garden and use broken pieces of crockery and glass for cups, saucers and plates. She did not even have a doll, so I made her a "doll" with pieces of wood and dressed in scraps of material my mother gave us. We laughed a lot, and cried when our "baby" fell ill. I had met a girl with an imagination as rich, strong and fertile as my own! Her mother would bring us tea when she came home from work, and occasionally our play would be interrupted by a bell tinkling in the dark depths of the house - her father calling for assistance.
Annie never said much about him, just that he was "ill", spent most of the time in bed in his darkened bedroom and occasionally would want to be moved around in the house in an armchair that had had wheels fitted to it. Her mother was in fact Irish, I discovered, and in later years I learned to recognise her melancholy and broody demeanour as something some Irish are prone to. To me she was always friendly and I liked her. The fact that she intrigued me probably also helped.
As our friendship grew, it became more difficult for me to see Annie shunned or, worse, teased and tormented by the other girls at school. This is where my livelong hatred of bullying in any form was born, I am sure. But boys and girls did not mix at school, and there was nothing I could do to help, I tried to console myself. Deep down, however, I resented my own conviction that it was mere cowardice.
Then, one day, Annie did not come to school. I went over to their house that afternoon, but everything was locked up and silent. For a few days after that I fretted, but then my mother received a letter from Annie's mother. It had been posted in Douglas, and was short, a note, really, informing us that her husband had taken a turn for the worse and that they had gone to De Aar to take him to the hospital. I never saw them again.
Over the years I have often wondered what happened to Annie. However, with time also came new friends, new places and new adventures. When I first discovered that I had forgotten her real name, it caused me some anguish and a feeling that I had somehow let her down. But the influence she had on my life mushroomed as I grew older. I discovered that it was the most natural thing in the world for me to become friends with the ones on the fringes, those whom most people did not want to know, the underdogs and rejected ones. I discovered that I detested bullies and bullying, that I could not accept any form of discrimination against people who have no control over what has caused them to be different. It was in that time, too, that I grew to dislike intensely the kind of stubborn stupidity that underlies arrogance and conceit. Annie also taught me that boys and girls could be pals - friends with no trace of romance involved.
So, this is to you, Annie, and all those out there like you: people who briefly come into our lives like butterflies, but leave deep imprints in our souls. We may forget your names, we may become so involved in our daily grind that we do not even think of you except rarely, but the difference you made to us will always be with us. This is also to all who live on the fringes, people who have had a raw deal from fate, those who are more easily shunned than befriended, who are judged by those who have not gone to the trouble to get to know you. You, too, leave your marks on those who get close enough to recognise God's little flame burning brightly in your souls…
Mooiloop
Ray
raytheron at iprimus.com.au
Our Legal Beagles are available for all your relevant queries... please continue to send in any queries you have for them and we will get them answered for you free of charge!
We have expanded our circle of helpers to include New Zealand and Europe. Remember that sometimes it takes a while for the relevant 'Legal Beagle' to answer. Also please remember that the advice is offered as a free service, THOS and SAW are not personally responsible for the content.
Nobody needing help this week.
Hello Maureen,
I am on the hunt for South African Beers. Do you know where we can buy them in Europe?
I would appreciate any help you can give us on this.
Regards
Elaine Harris
"SA Club Luxembourg" sa_club_lux@hotmail.com
If you are looking for a lost friend... if you would like old friends to contact you... If you want to find old school friends... if you just want people who used to know you to find you again for a chat...
Send in your info, the info of anyone you are looking for and let's see if we can find them for you!
This from Lucy luce@iprimus.com.au
Here are the folks I need to find:
All from Jhb in the 80s:
Leslie de Beer - lived in Triomf, in military
Angus Graham Macintosh - computer man, married someone called Shelley in mid 80s
Karen & Mark Forrest-Smith - believed to be in Cape Town
Alice Walker - former Parktown Girls High School girl, graduated 79
These details are all too obscure, which is why I am doubtful anyone might know of them, but as you say - worth a try, hey!
Thanks again,
Lucy
New Zealand
This from Marlene Smith
Dear Maureen
This is to notify that Dr Michelle Trumpelmann (MBChB FRNZCGP), General Practitioner will be consulting at:
HealthZone
Millenium Centre
17 Antares Place
Mairangi Bay
Ph 477-2090
as from 15 July 2004.
Kindest regards
Marlene
UK - Cambridge
South African Party and "Sokkie Jol"
Its time for a party again.
Here in Cambridge things are happening. South Africans from all over are welcome.
Saturday 24 July 2004.
Cherry hinton Village Centre Cambridge
South African Shop
19:00 till 00:00
For more details contact
Pierre de Wet
pdwz1@hotmail.com
07956503038
Many thanks
If you were wondering why I haven't used a joke you sent in; some of the jokes I receive are just not suitable for general publication. So send me suitable jokes and I will publish them and acknowledge their origin.
Mothers and Sons
This from Garrin Jameson GarrinJ@joburg.org.za
Two Middle East mothers are sitting in the desert strip chatting over a pint of goat's milk.
The oldest mother pulls her bag out and starts flipping through pictures, and they start reminiscing.
"This is my oldest son Mohammed. He's 24 year old," says mum.
"Yes, I remember him as a baby" says the other mother gleefully.
"He's a martyr now though" mum confides.
"Oh dear!" says the other.
"And this is my second son Kalid. He's 21"
"Oh, I remember him," says the other happily, "he had such curly hair when he was born".
"He's a martyr too" says mum quietly.
"Oh gracious me ..." says the other."
"And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Achmed. He's 18", she whispers.
"Yes" says the friend enthusiastically, "I remember when he first started school".
"He's a martyr also," says mum, with tears in her eyes.
After a pause and a deep sigh, the second mother looks wistfully at the photographs and says, "It's amazing … they blow up so fast, don't they?"
This from Marlene Smith
Kahlua Cheesecake with two chocolate
Base:
200g choc. chip cookies
75g melted butter
Filling:
150g dark chocolate (in pieces)
1tbsp cream
1/4 cup Kahlua
150g white choc, in pieces
1/4 cup cream
500g creme fraiche
3tbsp. brown sugar
Process cookies till fine. Add butter and mix. Press into lined shallow 22cm tin. Refrigerate. Put dark choc, 1st lot of cream and Kahlua in bowl and melt over hot water. Do the same with white choc and 2nd lot of cream. Beat creme fraiche and sugar together and divide into half. Stir dark choc mix into one half of creme fraiche and white choc. into 2nd half. Swirl the 2 together and pour into prepared base. In fridge for 6 hours or overnight.
Due to the difficulty in getting on line to check out sports, there is no sports news this week... apologies.
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