And now for something completely different. . .

As previously stated I am not one for beauty treatments.  I don't have the patience or the stomach for hours in salons amongst caped and foiled gossipers.  I did, however, once attempt to wax my legs at home with help from a friend.  The day started with an expedition to buy suitable wax which, from the blurb on the packaging, appeared to be ridiculously simple to use and promised silky, smooth legs in no time.  It sounded perfect and so began the quest for hairlessness.  The wax was popped into the microwave, as per instructions.  Almost immediately the container burst into flame.  Not to be daunted by this setback, a different tactic was employed and the charred container was warmed in hot water.  Legs exposed, warm and suspiciously resinous wax was smeared liberally on my, soon to be gorgeous, pins.  Strips at the ready, grimace on face, riiiiiip and. . . nothing.  Not a hair moved and nor did the wax.  Again and again we tried to no avail.  My legs were embalmed in stubbornly solid wax.  Nothing for it, but to call the helpline.  Luckily the number was on the uncharred bit of the container.  Unfortunately hysteria had set in and between the two of us, giggles prevented us from making much sense to the not particularly bright helpline lady.  She seemed to think we were having her on.  Eventually we were told that baby oil was the appropriate solvent.  Did we have any? Of course not.  We had not forseen any leg versus wax catastrophes.  By this time, we had tried all manner of ways to remove the wax and my legs were rather red and sore and covered with blobs of cotton wool.  Next hurdle, a trip to the shop to buy baby oil.  My friend doesn't drive so I drove, robed in a towel and the plan was for her to nip into the shop, grab the baby oil and get the damn wax off.  Easy.  All was going well until her child escaped the car wanting her Mum.  Child running through parking lot with me, towel, wax, cotton wool and all in hot pursuit. Of course the towel fell off, it just couldn't not have. I grabbed screaming child who, by now had attracted a huge amount of attention wailing "Mummy, I want my Mummy." Now I was being viewed as a half naked, child snatcher by half of Fish Hoek's surly shoppers. After what seemed like an age, my friend emerged brandishing a tiny bottle of our life saving elixir. Oh thank the powers that be! I put foot and wax-caked-leg out of the car park and we squealed with laughter as I recounted between snorts what had happened during her absence. A calming cup of tea and operation remove wax began. It worked, but not without a great deal of elbow grease. Moral of the story. If your beauty product bursts into flame within the first five minutes of use, you should probably take that as an ominous sign. I am just so grateful that I started with my legs and not my bikini line!

My sister, my friend.

In life people cross paths for a reason, a season or a lifetime, as the saying goes.  My sister and I were destined to be together.  We were adopted thirteen months apart from different backgrounds.  This fact was never disclosed to us by our adoptive parents.  My sister came home to me and I apparently did not appreciate the intrusion as I sent her hurtling down the staircase on a tray and while she cried at the foot of the stairs, I squirted washing up liquid in her eyes!  As time went by, I got over my jealousy and we grew as close as siblings can be.  Our upbringing was strict, almost Victorian, and we relied on each other for comfort.  We made up games, we adventured into the bush behind our house, we danced and sang and spent time with our Dad on the beach.  Our lives also revolved around ballet and music eisteddfods, school work and piano exams.  Our Mother expected nothing less than perfection and there was little enjoyment on the trips home. An angry cloud of disapproval often hung in the car about things most petty.  Like toes not pointed enough or slouching.  I think this is the reason why we both developed a such a whacky sense of humour to help us through.   As young girls and then teens, Dad was ill and we were eventually sent to boarding school. I don't think we really realised how much we lent on each other in those days or how much insidious interference our Mother caused to our impressionable psyches. We discovered by accident around the ages of fourteen and fifteen that we were adopted. I tried to be philosophical, my sister was devastated. We knew instinctively not to say we knew, but it came out. It was a difficult time, a true elephant in the room as it was a taboo subject. The roots we thought we had were severed and we were ungrounded. Our behaviour deteriorated. As young adults we began to spend less time together. This in part due to natural pathfinding and the death of our beloved Dad. My sister moved out early, I stayed at home. We wrote long letters to each other, but things were not the same. We were lonely for each other, but a subtle rift had developed. Unbeknown to us, Mother sought to divide and conquer by playing one sister against the other. For what reason, we will probably never know. As the years went by, we lived our lives. We married, had children and found our respective careers. My Mother and sister immigrated to New Zealand. This before I had access to email so regular communication wasn't that easy. After some particulary nasty accusatory behaviour from my Mother I felt it necessary to finally sever her negative influence and never spoke to her again. Sadly my sister became a casualty of this because I was made out to be the villain. When our Mother died, I realised just how dire the situation was. Our sisterhood was in tatters. We could barely speak to each other all due to the disinformation campaign Mother had put in place. Some tentative messages via cell phone, then a phone call and slowly, putting the pieces together, we began to rebuild. It was a time of real elation and deep sadness. Elation for me because I had my sister back and sadness that a person who called herself a mother had caused such unnecessary harm. In 2012 I travelled to New Zealand to see my sister after ten years of silence. For the first few days we were a little wary of each other, but then we just found our old course. Like a river knows where to flow, we did too. We spoke of the happy memories, we spoke of the dark days and together we buried her ashes, we buried our past. That was a day of great significance, a new beginning for us both. I rent the sky asunder with echoing blasts from my Dad's double-barrelled shot gun. We vowed never to be apart in spirit, ever again. Goes to show that blood is not always thicker than water. My sister, my friend how did I cope without you for so long.

Angus, continued.

I wrote a blog about our bull terrier named Angus a while ago entitled 'Angus, his story.'  Since then Angus has been improving daily.  As I type, he is curled up asleep in his basket, his beloved orange ball near his nose.  During his 'terrible tail time,' this would never have happened.  He hardly slept then because he was fixated with chasing his tail and mutilating it.  Since his tail was amputated, he has been weaned from his anti-epileptic meds and we are in the process of doing the same with his anti-anxiety meds.  Angus likes routine and tells the time exceptionally well. He loves car trips and is wary of the vet, but behaves exceptionally well with him. I think he might instinctively know that the vet gave him another chance at life as a real dog. Up to this point he has not been dog-friendly, but he met a Jack Russell the other day and immediately went into the 'bowing position' which says "Play with me!" in dog language. The Jack Russell was at risk of being flung into the air by an Angus nose under his tummy. We were amazed to see this as the times before play spiralled into aggression very quickly.  He sleeps upstairs with us these days and has his spot at the bottom of the bed.  Before he settles down for the night, he washes Sam, our very large ginger cat.  This causes much disgruntled meowing. Once that task is finished, he bomb drops into his space with a grunt and goes to sleep.  In the early morning, Sam and Angus start gently waking us.  Sam with the patting-paw-in-the-face method and Angus with the nose-nibble method. Needless to say, this becomes more and more insistent as they realise we are pretending to be asleep.  They are both let out only to return for 'snuggle Mum in the bed' time. When I manage to extricate myself and go downstairs, Angus sometimes grabs my dressing gown tie and leads me to wherever my husband happens to be.  We all sit on the couch and watch TV.  Angus like to sprawl across our laps.  Breakfast crumbles eaten, it is time for Angus to bark at the cupboard for his ball. If I am working that day, Angus curls his waggy body around me all the way to the door, maybe to prevent me from going. If I am at home during the day, I have a black and white shadow. I can't even go to the loo without being checked on! Angus is not a great gardener, but he tries. He likes to sniff blooms. We have had some disputes about where the plants should be planted. Angus pulls them out and relocates them. . .  Everytime I come home I am greeted in true bully style, ears back, wagging stumpy tail and quite a lot of boinging!  He knows now that humans need a nice cup of tea when returning from work so he waits, almost patiently, with the occasional woof in case we have forgotten the promised ball game.  Eventually, when the ball emerges from its cupboard hiding place, he gleefully grabs it and rushes outside to roll it in the mud. Once it is suitable anointed, it is presented to either Mum or Dad with a bump. No white clothing in this house! The problem is he won't let it go. We have tried everything! He puts it under the stove and flattens himself so just his rear end protrudes, idiot! We then have to prostrate ourselves on the floor with a long kitchen implement to get the ball out.  The game goes on until "Game over" is announced.  Angus then likes to remind the pigeons nesting on the awning who exactly is boss by barking at them. They perch on the edge looking rather puzzled. He also chats to the staffie nextdoor for a bit. He sniffs at his bowl when he thinks it should be filled and he is always on time. Then it is time to help Dad cook. If he is not sitting on someone's feet, he is near the stove, it is a bit like an obstacle course. While watching TV, Angus likes to snuggle next to me on the couch or chew a hoof filled with peanut butter in his basket. He used to be unable to chew anything because he thought his tail was going to grab his treat and spent his time growling at it. Poor chap! Angus is a very sensitive dog and has displayed this many times. If one of us is upset, he will do his utmost to help by climbing onto the person's lap and pushing his chest hard up against the person. He likes to join in when people are laughing and clowns around doing his springbok leaps (all four legs off the ground) usually with something ridiculous like pliers or the decorative metal warthog in his mouth! Angus has just turned three and I will say this again. I am so glad we found someone who was willing to help us spare his life. He is an absolute character.

Thoughts on challenge.

Challenge is something I thrive on.  For me, life without a challenge or ten would not be worth living.  Challenge for me is a self-test.  It has nothing to do with pitting myself against others, it has to do with my inner drive to succeed, solve a difficult problem, survive even.  I like to think I would not give up when others have.  Television programs like 'Survivor' appeal to me, but I probably would not do well because I am not a devious person.  I am able to read people well so picking up deception would not be difficult, but playing mind games is not my modus operandi.  I like to win fair and square, on my own merit rather than be cheated, that just makes me cross!  Another thing that makes me cross is people who throw in the towel when things become difficult.  I understand letting things go, but people who move from place to place, person to person, doctrine to doctrine searching for perfection are usually doomed to failure.  Make the best of what you have and who you are.  Strive for your dreams and don't be afraid to question, explore and of course challenge yourself.  How will you know what you can accomplish unless you have tried?