Beautiful Young People

This is my homeboy, Sam (right), with his best friend, Luke. They're always having a good larf and somehow make others larf with them.


They love to do this:

And ride these:

Sam's dearest friend, though, whom he loves to be with is his gorgeous Hayley. She's sweet and funny and delightfully playful. They've known each other for over a year now.

Today, was Hayley's year 10 Formal. Sam and Hayley have been looking forward to going for some time. Luke was also invited to the Formal.

It's seldom an occasion we see the lads dressed like this, though.

They look rather smart and - well - civilised...

Sam wanted to impress his lovely young lady so much. He even took his hat off...

I'm sure he was VERY impressed with her. Isn't she beautiful?

Hope you have a wonderful evening, young 'uns!

A Christmas Home

Wind, Dust, Weeds and Flies

For the past two days, the girls and I have been doing more clearing in the parking lot at the Shop. This involves digging out weeds from the cracks in the tarmac, removing tons of dirt, in different stages of decomposition, cutting down branches that hang over the parking lot, loading, then unloading all of the above on the next door block which adjoins the Shop Block (Another story for another time).

A strong westerly has been blowing, resulting in many dusty, puffy mini whirlwinds, causing havoc with our tender sinuses. It's really gruesome, - digging, raking and loading soil, leaves, twigs and pushing wheelbarrows, while our hands are tied and noses are running. As if that isn't bad enough, there are about five flies at one sitting, feeding on said snot.

Yes, really gruesome.

Fortunately, we were finished by midday, just in time for lunch. Later, though, the Machinist and I returned to the Shop, to trim and mow the Grand's garden, as well as spray poison on tiny tufts of grass that have started to show on a previously weeded side of the parking lot. As the Machinist sprayed the Roundup on troublesome spots, I walked alongside him, telling him how to spray ... as well as pointing out areas that he had missed.

Ha! Just kidding...

Half way through the ghostbusting.. er ... I mean weed spraying, the sprayer stopped working. The Machinist disassembled the various parts of the sprayer, but couldn't find any reason for its refusal to work. He was utterly baffled.

Poison Content: check
Pressure pump: check
Release valve: check
Spray wand: check
Spray nozzle: check
Lizard floating in poison:

What the...

Sure enough - there was a tiny lizard, clogging up the top of the inner tube.

And with that, the Machinist emptied the rest of the poison (and tiny lizard) over a stubborn cluster of blackberry roots and plum tree stump and we called it a day.

Happy Birthday to Sarah

Today was my middle daughter, Sarah's Birthday. We have a family tradition of waking the birthday person and singing happy birthday to them, while bearing gifts. (I've told of this before).


I had a number of photos and more to say about Sarah's birthday, but I've forgotten, because our internet has been down, and if I don't do it the same day, facts escape me! Besides, the little scamp has beaten me to it, as she has written about her birthday here: http://middlepaw.blogspot.com/2008/12/yesterday-was-my-20th-birthday.html


One thing I wanted to show you, though - not that this has anything to do with birthdays and presents, but it is something about my homegirl that always makes me smile:

Her workboots!

She is feminine and classy, has great taste in many things, is friendly and fun, motivated and encouraging. She is of slight build with the hugest biceps I've seen on such a tiny young woman. She works hard in whatever she does, with good conscience. In the workshop, alongside the men, she likes to retain her feminine look; - wearing foxy earings and pillar box red nailpolish. It is her workboots, though, that make me smile each time I see her in them. They are such a far cry from the beautiful shoes she owns, and the personality she possesses.

But I guess that's one of the umpteenth reasons I love her - for she has such flexibility. So it's not "put on your dancing shoes, birthday girl", but rather "put on your steel-toed, hob-nailed boots, Esmerelda"

As Sarah explains to me: "Mam, if you want to get some, Redbacks are the best. They are so comfortable and conform to your foot shape. You'll have to buy some thick socks, though. You can wear thinner socks, but the thicker socks are even more comfortable".

Yeah. Whatever.

I love you, Beaver Marple!

Australia

Australia - the movie - go see it!

Happy Birthday to my Dad (Grandpa)

Grandpa celebrated his 83rd birthday today. I wrote on his card: " We love you, let's set a regular date.."

Two days ago, he was hacking into the most awkward, prickly, twisted bush, determined to spit on it's grave by the end of the afternoon. And - he did. I love to see that tenacity at his age.

I am so grateful that my dad promised my mam the 'holiday of a lifetime' and took her to Africa. Thirteen years later, he took her to the 'land of milk and honey' and we are still reaping. There are times, when my dad's eyes gloss over and he regrets things he has done and things he hasn't done. When this happens, I remind him of all the good that came from his decisions.

Grandpa, I love you! Let's make regular dinner dates on this day each year?

Love,
Poochie

Battlefield History 101. F.Y.I.

I spent all of my teenage years living in South Africa, and one thing I have come to terms with is the fact that although not my original homeland, Africa, as a whole has a hold on a person. I will never forget it. I will never forget my life there, how we lived, where we lived. It will always have a piece of my heart.

We lived in a small country town in the province of Natal (now known as Kwa Zulu Natal). Dundee was and still is, famous for it's history and particularly it's proximity to the site of the Battle of Isandlwana, which occured in 1879. (see http://www.zuluwars.co.za/index.php) . One thousand, six hundred Red Coats (British) were killed at the foot of Isandlwana by around twenty thousand Zulus. Wherever a British soldier fell, a cairn was erected over him.

Each year that we lived in Dundee, a commemorative walk was held and promoted by the local MOTHs (Men of the Tin Hats) - an organisation akin to the RSL (Returned Soldier's League). If you completed the walk from Isandlwana to Blood River, via Fugitive's Drift, you were rewarded with a braai (BBQ), cool drinks and later - a certificate to prove you ventured through the rugged terrain in the footsteps of the unfortunate men who fell there.

One year, a local historian was giving a lecture on what had happened at the site all those years ago. My mam was standing next to a cairn and while listening to the lecture, began to 'doodle' with her foot in the red dirt. Imagine her horror, if you will, as she uncovered a humerus bone whilst mid-doodle. The bone was taken by the organisers and I have no idea what happened to it.

A documentary on the Battle of Isandlwana was featured on the History channel this evening. Sarah was sitting next to me. She's heard my stories of life in S Africa many times, and was gracious enough to say nothing when I continued to utter "Amazing" and "Can you believe it?" and "I actually walked there. Each year, I walked there" and "Did I tell you Granny uncovered a human bone near one of those cairns?..."

Like I said.... South Africa has a hold on me. I'm constantly aware of this fact 'cos after all - the Machinist is a Serf Efrican through and through, and in his Ouma's words "Hy is 'n Boer en hy bly 'n Boer"

Mi Lad

December 2005 to 22 November 2008

R.I.P. Sweet Bucknuckle B. Knucklehead. We will miss you very much.

http://machinistswife.blogspot.com/2007/10/he-doesnt-look-ill-or-anything.html#links

http://machinistswife.blogspot.com/2008/09/now-that-weather-is-warming-up-my.html#links

Help At Hand

I felt woeful today. I can't say why. It's just one of those things, and to try and analyse it would drive me bonkers. When I feel this way, I remember my mam's words: "Helen, keep busy". My days are always busy. For the most part, they are productive, too. Which helps. Oh, productivity helps a lot! The sense of accomplishment after productivity is the cream of the task.

And so, with mam's words chorusing in my ears, I drove my woeful self up to the shop in the Machinist's ute, with garden tools on the back. (There were still branches of privet and blackberry canes, not to mention grassy clumps to be loaded onto the trailer). I just had to do something physical. Some hard yakka.

As I pulled in, Grandpa was searchin for one of his garden tools. He came over to me and asked what he could do. I showed him one of the bushes which had to be cut out, and for a moment, there was that pesky-boy look - just a miniscule second of a glint in his eye. (Grandpa loves to cut down trees. We have the totum poles to prove it). He disappeared for a few minutes and returned with his arsenal of saws and clippers, distributed evenly over both of his hands. "Can you believe I picked these up for five dollars?" . He was set for an enjoyable afternoon.

The Grand's cottage gate creaked and Granny appeared. "Would you like me to clip some bushes, Helen?", she asked. After my mam's torturing experience with cellulitis, there was no way I wanted her caught on brambles, thorns and bacteria piercing her skin, so I suggested she might want to sweep parts of the driveway if that suited. "Oh sure!" And with that, she promptly took the broom and started sweeping tiny leaves, branches and loose pebbles into piles.

For quite a while we were silent as we laboured, and as I lent on the spade handle to wipe my brow (ha!), I caught sight of a female form walking towards me. The sun was behind her and rays emanated from each side of her body. An angel. It was our Emma!

Just when I was lowly, lacking inspiration, motivation and gumption, I was humbly reminded that help was, indeed, - at hand.

Some of the weeds and grasses we have been digging and clearing from the driveway at the shop.

The Path Often Travelled

At the end of the day, this is the path the Machinist takes, as he follows his nose to the kitchen...Firstly, though, he washes his hands under a tap at the side of the grapevine, getting rid of workshop grease and nonsense. On the right is the tiny pumphouse and hens, surrounded by roses and a fig tree. On the left - damsens, quince and ballerina apples leading under the arbour to the 'pool garden'

Standing in the pool garden, looking to his left at the vegetable garden (and probably sighing at the way the Head gardener - me - has let said vegetables go to seed)

Looking to his right, the old apple tree, surrounded by 'fans'. (I can never remember the name of these groundcovers. A kindly lady from an even smaller country village sent cuttings to me, via her husband, knowing that I had a huge back yard to fill. She told him to tell me "this should do the trick..")

Then, passing 'Sarah's Garden' with one more arbour to go through to the cemented courtyard at the bottom of the deck, the Machinist is greeted by his dog, Bob, who seems to be saying "Had a hard day at the workshop, dad? No matter, come inside... Let's go and eat and be merry..."

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off To Work We Go...

Once upon a time, our back yard consisted of grass, a willow tree and an old apple tree. I always wondered how I would ever 'fill' it up. As we made 'garden rooms' the only thought was to fill each room with desired plants and hope they would grow quickly, before the weeds came. Now those rooms seem to collectively say "Sorry, no more room at the Inn".

This is what we pass when we are on our way to work, just off the back deck: