Only twits twitter??

I said I would never do it - I would never join Twitter. Only twits twittered. It was the most narcissistic of all the social networking tools. Who cares what I think?

I still think that that's true in the many celeb tweets, where people say really thoughtless and indiscreet things. I really don't care if Graham Smith's girlfriend thinks he's a stallion (ugh!) I don't care what Paris Hilton is bleating about.

But today, I increased my Personal Learning Network by one tool - Twitter. I've chosen to follow people who have similar interests in ICT and Education - and you know what? It is fascinating!

Out of the blue I found a tweet from a teacher who said "Connectivity involves more than mere physical access to the internet; it also involves connection to the minds of learners" Wow! Twit? I don't think so!

So now I have yet another tab open on my computer, and more to read. It's exciting. I admit it - I am now an official TWIT!

Comrades

Today we watched the Comrades on TV - safely in Pretoria so watching on TV was quite acceptable! Jen castigated herself for watching from home when she could have been at the finish - this year, having a snooze in the afternoon was no shame!

Comrades Marathon has been part of my family mythology as long as I can remember. My Dad ran Comrades - I actually only remember one race, but we heard all about the others. The first ones he ran after a serious abdominal op when he was told he would never walk upright again and was determined to show the doctors they were wrong. The race when his two brothers-in-law, Graeme and James, seconded him - by waiting every 10 miles along the road - no refreshment tables in those days! The time he popped into a pub at 45th cutting and joined in a soccer game at the finish on the high caused by a double brandy on an empty tummy. The shoes - tennis shoes with the toes cut out. The time Wally Hayward finished and then came back and ran in with the back markers.

I remember the last time he ran - I was in Grade 8 and we weren't allowed out of Boarding School, but caught a glimpse of the last runners (Dad probably amongst them) as we went to Nagle Dam for a picnic.

Dad passed the baton - and his number - 49 - on to his brother -in-law, Graeme, and seconded him a couple of times - using reverse psychology to get him to carry on, by saying - your friends are just behind you - let them pass you! I remember going to watch Uncle Graeme run - we parked halfway up Pollyshorts, and clapped and cheered the 500 runners home. From Uncle Graeme came other stories - of the blind runner, Ian Jardine, who would run with his friends, holding on to a hanky held by the guide for that race - sometimes Uncle Graeme. And then, once women were allowed to run, Aunty Hazel started running and did a whole bunch of Comrades herself - slow but steady.

When we first moved back to Maritzburg in 1981, I remember standing on the corner of Maud Ave and Jesmond Road watching Bruce Fordyce win his first Comrades. He wore a black armband to protest the Apartheid regime, and Pete's Dad turned his back and refused to applaud.

In the late 80s, Pete ran 3 times. I remeber the first race - the training, the pressure before the race, the way we were all scared to breathe in case we gave him germs, the weekend in Cape Town at his friend Charles' wedding, and the drive home the night before the race, the long wait to see him come in at 10hrs 40, the way he lay in the bath that night and said, "Never again!" Then the next year when he cut more than an hour off his time.

I remember waiting in Durban the year the first black runner won the race, and seeing the helicopter hovering over Frith van der Merwe, with her amazing race.

Moving to Jesmond Road gave us another link with the race - the first year when the race went past our house - what excitement. The race changed route for a while, and we felt sad and cheated, but it eventually came back home! Sarah had a link with the race for a while through a boyfriend, Brad Glasspoole, and Pete got involved again, as a "worker," most recently as the driver of the car at the back of the race with his good friend, Arnie.

Today was different - Pete was able to watch it on TV, I wasn't home to cheer the runners past home, the St Nics Steel Drum band played at the Nedbank Mile at Camperdown and we watched with Kev.

But one thing stayed the same - I will never play an active part in the Comrades Mythology. No matter how fit and thin I get, I have no intention of ever doing anything so crazy as running from Durban to Maritzburg or Maritzburg to Durban. Comrades runners are mad in the head!

No good deed goes unpunished

I watched the catch-up of Desperate Housewives today (I said I was an addict) and it ended with the quote - "No good deed goes unpunished." Then I decided it was too cold to sit in the house, so took my book out into the sun to read, and there, on the second page I read was "No good deed goes unpunished!"

So, obviously, that had to be my inspiration for today's blog.

I think born meddlers like me need to take this one really to heart. I love to sort out people's lives, because I am sure I always know better than everyone else. I know exactly how everyone should deal with their problems, and exactly what actions they should take. And I love being a do-gooder. I love doing things for people. But I seldom stop to think if they actually want good being done to them. Maybe my concept of good isn't the same as theirs.

I can think of a couple of times when I have rushed over to visit someone who I've heard is in trouble, only to find that they don't want me there at all. I've made meals no one wanted to eat. I've lent books no one wanted to read. I've bought presents that no one wanted. I've given advice that people didn't want. I've planned lessons no one wanted to teach.

When I'm training teachers, I often have to bite my tongue because I really do know better how their project should go, and what questions they should be asking, and how they should be supporting their learners. I should - I am an experienced project based teacher and for many of them, it's their first time. As the facilitator it is my job to guide them to make good choices, but the temptation is to say - "No, that's all wrong - let me fix it," because I am by nature a fixer-upper. But when I give good advice, and a participant stubbornly sticks to their wrong idea, sometimes I just have to leave it.

A friend once did a good deed for me. I had an op that meant I would be at home for about a month. She made me a box of envelopes, one for each day. In the envelopes were poems or little cards - but also some "challenges" that were things she liked doing, like phoning someone to say sorry for something you might have done to them. For the first week, I enjoyed the envelopes. In the second week, I began to get a bit irritated at her presumption about the things I needed to fix in my life. In the third week, I read all the envelopes on one day. In the fourth week, I threw the box away, and no matter how hard I tried to be grateful to her for what had obviously taken hours of her time to do, I never really felt close to her again.

So if I don't do a good deed for you, it's not that I don't care - it's just that I am learning to do only what people really want, not what I think they want. So feel free to tell me what you would like me to do for you.

And remember - no good deed goes unpunished.

On the brink of manhood

As I arrived at OR Tambo airport on Thursday evening, a young man was hanging over the edge of the walkway. He waved, and I realised it was Kev. I hardly recognised him. Granted, I was still feeling terrible after a flight that left me feeling nauseous and disorientated (don't know why because it was a fairly stable flight in the bigger of the toy planes from Oribi airport.) Granted, Kev's face is still quite swollen from a whack in the mouth with a hockey stick last Saturday which left him with broken teeth and lots of stitches. Granted, I wasn't really expecting him to be there - I thought he would be over at the Arrivals door. But the fact remains that I hardly recognised my grandson - the baby I watched being born, that I cuddled in my bed at night, that I took to school, and sobbed along with when he had to go home after a weekend with us.

He's 131/2 and he's growing up. Every now and then, his voice breaks into a lower register, and most of the time, it is gruffer - as though he has a bit of a cold. He is taller and chunkier - after growing out of the baby shape with the fat little tummy, he became like a string bean, but now he is filling out. He eats like a horse - we can't keep up with the volume of milk he drinks, especially as we hardly have any. He knows all the "apps" on the iPhone his dad passed on to him, and is an expert on computer games. He is totally adolescent in some ways - "I'll do it just now..." means "never"; homework is something you need to find creative excuses not to do; you are "cool" when you are with your friends. He speaks a language I often don't understand. He has learnt that being charming is a wonderful manipulation tool, and he uses it to his advantage.

He's on the cusp of growing up - being at High School makes me conscious that soon he will be a man.

But there is still a little boy inside. A little boy who had a "tummy ache" today because he wanted to stay at home with us. A little boy who still watches cartoon network and the Disney channel more than anything else. A little boy who still calls us Granny and Grampa when there is no-one else to hear. A little boy who still will snuggle into our bed when he's cold, and will let me cuddle him when he's sad. A little boy who runs round the garden with the dog as though they are both puppies, wrestling and playing.

I miss the little boy who has been the light of my life for the last 13 years. The little boy to whom I have been his beloved granny. I miss the little fellow with the chubby hands who was always busy making something. I miss the dimples on knees and wrists, the fat little cheeks, the little voice on the phone that would say "playing" when we asked him what he had been doing. (Now he says "nothing!")

But I look forward to the man who will emerge. Good looking (well,he is the image of his Mum in a masculine way and my kids are the best looking in the world), bright (even though his school reports don't show it); caring and sensitive; friendly and outgoing. He's a survivor, and I pray for protection during these years as he emerges from childhood into adulthood.

Lord, please keep my Kev safe from influences that he can't resist, from disappointments that sour his nature; from sadnesses that make him bitter. Keep his path straight and protect him so he may grow up to be the man you want him to be. Amen

The loneliness of the long-distance consultant?

I had a busy day yesterday. I left home at 8.40 and didn't get back till 5.30. I had a UKZN lecture till 12.30, then a lesson with Gr 9 at St Nics to try and finishe my research for the Read Africa Conference in July, then I had a Reading to Learn meeting with Mike Hart and spent the last part of the afternoon showing Fi how to make a blog. I also did some shopping. By the time I sat down to my webinar at 9.00 I was very tired.

Last year, that would have been a normal day - leave home at 7.10 and leave school at 5.30. No wonder I was always tired.

But this year, the pattern of my days is different. Being a consultant is hard work - lots of new things to do, lots of hours to work, ideas to conceptualise and put into order, documents to write, assessments to do. Often I don't really understand what I am grappling with, but there are no distractions which allow me to do something "worthy" to get away from the work that needs to be done. A lot of my work is done by myself, but a skype conference with Gerald today showed how easy it is to collaborate, and without 20 people knocking on the door and interrupting - I never got used to that at school! I often work late at night to get my hours in for my different contracts, especially as so many of the things I do are on USA time, so I have 9 and 10pm webinars!

But there are definite perks - being able to go for a walk with Pete and Lindt during the morning, eating breakfast and lunch at the verandah table, having time to cook meals that are low-carb, low-calorie AND tasty, taking time out to light a fire in the lounge fireplace, to go to gym, to sit around in my slippers all day, to sit on the verandah and thaw out for a few hours. I can even go on holiday and do my work while Pete is fishing or watching TV.

I do miss the interaction with the friends I had when I was working full-time. But I get to talk to Pete more than I have for years. I even get time to talk to my cats - Jingle and Bell get very bent out of shape when I am away for a substantial part of a day.

So - am I lonely? No. I feel more relaxed than I have felt for a long time - maybe I can stop taking my anti-depressant medication.

The life of a long-distance consultant is a good life. Long may the feelings of excitement last.

Old dogs, new tricks

A few weeks ago we bought an iPod. Well, actually Pete paid for most of it, and I just put in a little bit, but he has kindly called it Pete and Deb's iPod on the computer.

So now I work to the sounds of Wouter Kellermann, Celtic Insiration, Phantom of the opera and some songs from South Pacific. Mostly because those are the songs on the iPod and I don't know how to add any more or bypass the ones I find distracting (like the songs from Phantom)I don't find the earphones comfortable, but it is quite cool to type away with music resounding in my head. The Wouter Kellermann is especially good, because the sound moves from one earphone to the other - a glissando of tubular bells from one ear to the other. The iPod clps to my clothes and I walk around the house shouting at people with the music blaring away in my head, so I don't realise how loudly I am talking.


Another new trick for this old dog is the Kindle. I would never have bought one, being besotted with books - old books, new books, big books, small books - but having won it, I am delighted with it. I can buy books in my pyjamas - and I do if I want something new to read at 11 o clock at night, or on a cold day when I don't feel like getting dressed and going to the mall. At the moment Pete is reading the last 2 books in the Earth's Children series on my Kindle and I am reading a real book again. I love the feel, but it is easier to read a kindle in bed - the pages stay flat!


And then of course, there is the Garmin. I don't always believe "Miss Garmin" as Sihle calls her, but it is comforting when you are a nervouse driver like me and you know there is "someone" who will help you find your way back home when you have driven thoughtlessly and absent-mindedly off in the wrong direction in a strange town (as I did in Pretoria last time we were there)


So where do the old dogs go to next? A new phone - Sarah says an iPhone for sure but I don't know if i can afford one, and lots of other people say a Blackberry. I will have to think hard and save hard so I make a long term decision.


It's good to know that we can keep up for the moment - and I enjoy my electronic toys. I'm sure life would be fine without them, but I do enjoy working to the strains of Wouter Kellerman's flute in my head.

Anytime, Anywhere Learning

I have been reading lots of websites the last few days, but today I came across something by Bruce Dixon, the founder of the Anytime, Anywhere Learning Foundation. I have one of his Master Classes on my computer and what I want to do today is record some of the quotes which have my head buzzing. Will I sleep tonight? Probably not! Too much will buzz round in my head!

A new name for teenagers - SCREENAGERS! I see them everywhere I go! focused on cell phones, iPods and laptops.


It's the change underlying these tools (Web 2.0 tools) that I'm trying to emphasize.
Forget blogs...think open dialogue.
Forget wikis...think collaboration.
Forget podcasts...think democracy of voice.
Forget RSS/aggregation...think personal networks.
Forget any of the tools...and think instead of the fundamental restructuring of how knowledge is created, disseminated, shared, and validated.George Siemens blog


“The transformation of work requires much more than a mastery of a fixed curriculum inherited from past centuries.

Success in the slowly changing worlds of past centuries came from being able to do well what you were taught to do.

Success in the rapidly changing world of the future depends on being able to do well what you were not taught to do”
Vision for Education: Caperton & Papert


The challenge of Re-imagining…
How do we become aware of our reality beyond our concepts…..
and then take time to reflect on what we see..
“What does it take to shake people loose?...imagination deteriorates with experience ..we need radical re-imagining”.
Peter Senge 2007


Anyone can now learn anytime, throughout their life
Anyone can now learn anywhere, wherever one has access to the Internet
Anyone can now learn anyhow, in tacit, non-formal and formal ways
So, learning need not, and perhaps even should not, be concentrated in a given period of life (school age) and in a particular place (the school) nor ought it to be “standardized”, “one size fits all”


My mind is stretched, I am feeling excited, I almost wish I had a classroom to go back to on Monday to try this all out!

Life is change. Growth is optional. Choose wisely.

This evening we went to the Sidewalk cafe evening at St Nicholas - it was meant to be one of my projects but was postponed because of lack of commitment from staff. So I got to go as a visitor - no working all afternoon to set up the tables, or helping in the kitchen, or organising the entertainment. No trying desperately to get people to come so we had a bigger audience. We just showered, got dressed and arrived.

How did it feel? There was a part of me that enjoyed being there, being part of the bustle, being there with people who have been very significant in my life over many years. It was great to chat to special friends and catch up with their news. It was great to have a meal prepared by Fran in her spectacular way. It was great to hear Musa playing and Nolwazi singing. it was great to see Petra putting together a song with some of the male staff and watching them make fools of themselves.

There was another part that said - this is not me any more. This is not my turf. I am an alien here. I don't know if I belong. I don't care if I belong. Pete was bored stiff - but he always was at school functions. This time I cared that he was bored and was happy to get Sihle to bring us home early.

It's 5 months since I left the school as deputy, but only 6 weeks since I left altogether. How did I change so much so quickly? How did I become a different person with such different priorities and feelings?

I think part of it is working on a much bigger scale than in the fairly small world of a school. Setting up this Membership programme is challenging and is also making me look outwards. I think another part of it is having the time to spend with Pete and re-explore our relationship. Now that we do see more of each other than the fag-ends of days when we are tired and stressed from other people's problems, I'm remembering why we married in the first place. We like each other, we like doing things together, we enjoy each other's company. My friend Vonnie reminded me tonight how lucky we were to have this time - her husband died when she was still working, and they never had this sort of quality time together.

I also think the 3 months at school this year trying to work against the system cured me of the pain of leaving what had been my home for so many years. It was a mistake to go back, but it served a good purpose. The difficulties of working at a job where I needed power but had none really did take the gilt off the gingerbread. I saw clearly without the emotion of my love for the school clouding my judgement.

Will I go back to functions again? I don't feel obligated to do things any more. I have a new life, I think I am growing, I think I am making good choices. I will go back when I feel happy to - but not because I ought to. My life is change. And I like it.

Girl friends

I watched Desperate Housewives tonight - I admit it - I am an addict! I love DSTV on Demand, because I can watch DH without any breaks for adverts.

Tonight I just couldn't stop laughing at the antics of Gabby and Bree - their forbidden friendship was so like a clandestine affair. They had to meet secretly because Carlos forbade Gabby to see Bree. They fought off the temptation to spend time together secretly, and then gave into it and revelled in it. When it came down to choosing between her marriage to Carlos and her friendship with Bree, she chose her girl friend. Of course, it was really about control and making her own decisions, but the end, when she and the girls moved in with Bree was classic.

There was another part when Lynette and Tom were having a fight and Renee walks in and sits down to listen! Only a girl friend could do that.

I have always had special friends, and as I've worked with women most of my life, they have often been girl friends. There are friends that we have as couples, but I have also always guarded those special girls who are MY friends. I often wonder if a man can understand the bond between girl friends - the "click", the common interests, the ability to talk and talk and talk!! Maybe it was jealousy that really made Carlos choose between him and Bree.

I look back at all the friends I have shared my life with. There was Noreen, with whom I shared a house and many tears and laughs. We lost touch, and a little while ago, she committed suicide - so sad. There is Pauline, who is Sarah's godmother - she's still down on the South Coast and we chatted on the phone once, but haven't met up for years. There is Jane, who was a close friend and a colleague and Nicky's godmother, who has now moved to New Zealand. I've tracked down her daughter on facebook and hope she'll get in touch with Jane's address. Carlene and Carol were "crafty" friends; Linda shared baby days with me; Vanessa and I were friends with each other, as well as "couple" friends; Sue, whom we saw in New Zealand last yer - our 4 girls grew up together; Heather who, sadly, died in an awful accident about 15 years ago but is never forgotten - I saw a Virginia creeper on a wall in Clarens, and was immediately reminded of her home in Ashburton; Ann who is probably my "oldest" friend - we have been friends since we were 14 - too many years ago to count! Wendy and Zodwa who were co-conspirators in the pre-Primary and still great friends - I miss them more than I miss St Nics itself; Tracy, Frankie and Jenny - close and beloved friends at St Matthews; Melissa and Heather - I shared music with them - both gone now but never forgotten; Lorraine who became my neighbour as well as my friend; Mal - my special friend right now - the one I can always rely on, the one who will laugh with me over the foibles of ourselves and others, and share our new adventures together as "the koeksusters!" Fi, Ju and Dee - friends from out Bible Study group who have become sisters in love. My sister, Jen, and my daughters, Sarah and Nic. And many others - too many to list.

Yes, I've been blessed with good friends - girl friends. I remember going to a talk where we were encouraged to give "honorary life membership" of our lives to significant people. Well, I give it to all my girl friends. You have all been part of my journey, and I hope will continue to be. I love you all.

Your Vote Counts

Local Election day in South Africa, and we walked up to the local voting station to vote this morning. We took Lindt with us, thinking the queue would be short and so we could take turns.

It was short - but a convoy of DA cars arrived with all the voters from Marian Villa just as we got there, and so I had to wait a bit longer than usual to put my mark on the 3 pieces of paper we had.

It was so interesting to stand amongst all the older people (most without active lifestyles) and hear what they were saying about voting. One old man told me that he was voting to see if we could get a council who would fix things. Another said he voted because it was the "right thing to do." Some of the people in the queue probably voted for the last time in their lives - they won't see another election. Others were just enjoying the outng because they don't drive any more.


I remember the last election with my Mom - we got to go in the "short" way (no stairs) because we were with Mom and there was no way she would have found her way through the church and to the voting station without a helper. Then we had to tell her what to do - where to go, where to put her cross and what to do with the papers afterwards. Heaven knows who she actually voted for in the end. We kept saying "Your vote counts!" but I wonder if it really did - or the way we wanted it to, anyway!


This time round, my brother-in-law, Les, put up a sign outside his complex on Monday. The rubbish hadn't been collected for 2 weeks, and there was a huge pile of black bags on the verge. Les's sign said "Penny Lane residents - vote wisely on Wednesday!" Good on you, Les!


I couldn't help thinking about 1994 again. There was so much hysteria prior to the elections - people had stockpiled tuna and paraffin and many whites were terrified of what the evening would bring. Others were elated - an old lady who had lived in South Africa most of her life, but who had never taken out South African citizenship was thrilled to be allowed to vote "for the first time." Friends in our Bible Study group had rushed off to cast an early vote the night before at the YMCA so they would avoid the "danger" of the next day.


We voted at the University - standing in a long queue of people of all colours and languages. The mood was excited and friendly. When the Electoral Officer closed the station so her workers could have a short break, we all groaned together and wondered why they couldn't take their breaks in shifts. The officers were friendly and full of high spirits, despite their obvious exhaustion. The queue moved slowly, with so many people voting for the first time, and needing to be shown what to do. No one got grumpy or abusive - we all just stood and shuffled forwards and talked and smiled. I wouldn't have missed it for anything! So how it must have felt for people who had been disenfranchised until that day, I can't imagine.

I'm sure there were lots of mistakes made that day - people voting more than once, lists being mixed up, votes going astray - but it set the groundwork for all the elections that followed. Today, the queue was short - maybe it was apathy, but mostly I think it was that we now have a functioning Voters roll, we know what we are doing, we are a grown-up country with a fully enfranchised population. I don't think much will change politically after today's poll, but hopefully, the build up to these elections has shown that people DO want better service delivery and less corruption, and maybe we will find things changing some more.

I voted - and I know my vote counts. Did you?

3 Generations

I had lunch today with my sister, Jen, her 3 kids - Yvonne, Nadia and Adrian, her grand-daughters Crystal and Barrie, and my son, Sihle. It was such a special time - sharing a meal, holding the baby, playing with Crystal and talking - and talking!

I was so glad to have Sihle with me - at least one of my kids was with me. It was so good to see Jen with all her family, but I missed my girls and Kev. I kept thinking of early days when they were all little - when the girls were 5, 4, 3, 2 and Adrian was a baby. Now the girls are 31, 30, 29 and 29 (Nadia just had a birthday) and Adrian is a big, grownup 27. The fmily has grown - there's Sihle, Kevin, Ray, Riaan and Brad, Crystal and Barrie. And at the other end, Mom and Dad are no longer with us. How Dad loved his grandchildren! How Mom loved her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Through all the changes, Jen and I are the constant. Sisters - not always good friends because we were different and both competing for the same attention from parents we adored, but as we have grown older, more and more alike and closer and closer. I don't need to see Jen often (in fact, I hardly see her despite living in the same town), but I know I can trust her 100% to be there for me, to love and support me. And I will do the same for her.

Right now, we are at the top of the 3 generations - it feels so strange to be the old ones, the wise!! ones, and to know that our genes carry on through the lives of our children.

Yesterday was special - next time Nic and Ray are out, we need to get a picture of our 3 generations all together.

Nature's Revenge on the Road Invaders

Don’t get me wrong – when I need to go to the airport, or to do my shopping, or go to work, or go anywhere in a hurry, I love tarred roads. I grew up in the sticks with an 8 mile drive to school on a dirt road – dust in winter, mud in summer. I like tarred roads.
But driving around the Eastern Cape, I was so taken with the small roads, the windy roads, the muddy and bumpy roads. If something man-made can be called organic, the roads we travelled on from Maclear through to Lady Grey are organic. They followed the contours of the hills. They splashed through rivers through fords and not over bridges, they crawled up the hills and eased along the flatter bits of land, holding the rain water and joining the dirt with the water to make sticky mud. The roads were affected by the weather and the underlying soil – we saw yellow roads, pink roads and yellow roads. We drove along rocky roads and sandy roads, and roads that suddenly changed from one to the other. Yes – organic roads that belonged to the landscape.
But from Lady Grey to Ladybrand, and then from Ladybrand to Clarens, we drove on tarred roads. They were Regional roads, and as such, not too big or well maintained. But they seemed to be invaders, aliens in the landscape. Whether they went straighter than the S roads (District Roads in KZN, but Streek roads in the Free State) because the land was flatter, or whether they had been tidied up and made straighter when they were tarred, they still seemed to dominate the landscape and to invade it.
We said a couple times that this was a bit dull – and then as we crossed into the Free State, nature got its revenge on the road. Potholes! Hundreds of them! We couldn’t drive straight along our side of our road – we had to twist and turn and dodge the holes and the oncoming cars which were doing the same. The rain filled the holes and water seemed to bubble up and erode the tar even further. The road was like a patchwork of tar and holes. Nature was taking its toll on the invader – gradually breaking it up.
We also drove through rain most of the way – the road was very wet and we thought there must have been a storm ahead, and with the mud on the truck, we thought it would be a good thing to catch up and get some mud washed off. When we got to Hobhouse and stopped for lunch (in the only coffee shop there was) they told us it had rained for 3 days and they had had 100mm of rain.
The Coffee Shop was quaint – it was in a leather workshop and the old couple who own it had retired to Hobhouse from Johannesburg. She took me into the house to use the loo, and followed us around the workshop showing us everything her husband and other craftspeople had made in great detail!
The road was bounded by little towns we had heard of but never visited before = Zastron, Wepener, Clocolan (on the other side of Ladybrand), Marquard and 2 we couldn’t find – Hammonia and Hibernia (the Garmin couldn’t find them and as there are no labels on the S roads in Free State, we went round in circles for a bit.)
The Lesotho mountains loomed on the west of us, and when we got to Fouriesburg, we took the road down to the Caledon Gate into Lesotho, we went down it and took some photos with Pete’s new camera – an amazing panorama!
We stayed near Ladybrand at St Augustine’s Priory - formerly an Anglican Priory but now a B and B and Conference Centre. There is a Cave church, used by the Anglican brothers in the 19th Century, but now being claimed as Mantsope’s Cave by AMAFA. It was interesting to see how the sandstone shelter had been enclosed with stone to make a cave with an altar and candle niches. The B and B is lavishly designed with top of the range curtains and bedding. Well worth a stop over if you are in the area.
Clarens was our next overnight. We have only been there before on a weekday – quiet and sleepy. On a weekend it is full of people in their SUVs, trailing from one artsy-craftsy shop to the next, or driving up the main street and then back down again in their convertibles. Much nicer on a weekday. But we stayed in a delightful B and B down near the river, where we had a great walk.
The drive home today took us down the last 2 passes – Lichen’s Pass in the Golden Gate National Park and the Oliviershoek Pass down to Bergville (the armpit of the Drakensberg) It brought our total number of passes to 11.
And then on the real invader – the N3 – 3 lanes each side, high speed traffic. It doesn’t just invade – it dominates, it conquers. But if I have to get to Pretoria in a day, I’ll choose it – tolls and all. But for peace and a feeling of being part of the landscape, give me a dirt road. Going nowhere slowly – a dream holiday.

The Road Less Travelled

We could have taken the tar road from Barkly East to Lady Grey. It was only 50 kms, and would have taken about ½ hour. We’d have arrived early in the afternoon, and been able to hole up in our old fashioned hotel bedroom, to get out of the rain ….
After a couple of hours fishing for Pete, we left Rhodes and drove through the countryside to Barkly East, listening to Wouter Kellermann on the i-Pod (He is a S African flautist who collaborates with other SA musicians to make interesting and unique local music.) Barkly East is a dull little town from the little we saw of it, but we wanted to add the Barkly Pass to our count, so drove through it towards Elliot. Amazing sandstone outcrops and caves in the area – I almost felt as if I would see Ayla and Jondalar from “The Shelters of Stone” come around the corner. The Barkly Pass is impressive on the Elliot side, but being tarred was a little less exciting than yesterday’s passes.
Back through Barkly East and on the tar road to Lady Grey – and that’s where I started this post. We took the scenic route through Joubert’s Pass. As we turned off the tar we debated letting some air out of the tyres – but decided the road looked fine – we’d be OK.
Obviously the Barkly East side of the Witteberg is the rainy side – a few km into the drive we started to see mud – and then we noticed the road had recently been graded. Loose soil and rain = mud! Lots of it! Lots and lots of it! We noticed tyre tracks slipping and sliding – obviously not a 4x4, we said – till we joined the slip and slide ourselves. Round a corner, and there were sheep right across the road and a truck stopped at the base of a steep, slippery incline. We stopped too – and had a long conversation with Frikkie – a local farmer, waiting for the sheep to go over the hill so he could take a run at it. Needless to say, we waited too.
Past the sheep and the mud didn’t let up. The road is obviously used by the local farmers - it went through a farmyard, past farms with buildings on both sides of the road, past people mending fences and chasing animals out of the way. Halfway up a hill we got behind a tractor – low range seemed the best plan and we crawled up behind him until he pulled to the side. We thought we could nip past, but then saw why he’d stopped – a herd of young bulls was being driven down the hill. Once they had gone, a bakkie came gingerly down the road and we let him go past. As we got over the crest of the hill, we saw why he had looked so shaken – mud like you have never seen!
Pete drove really well through the slipping and sliding, and we seemed to be over the worst – but then we got to a farm where there was a huge mud hole on the right – so Pete took the left side of the road, only to slip into a hole you couldn’t see – it was so full of mud. A few heart-stopping minutes later, we managed to reverse out of the hole and onto firmer (if not drier) land.
The mountains were covered with cloud most of the way, but as we got closer, the sky got lighter and the cloud began to lift, and we could see where we were going – quite a climb on road that was very rocky – normally I would have cried, but after the mud, rocks and gullies were tame. Up and up – and at the top, we reached a turnoff (locked) to Hemel op Aarde. I was worrying about getting a picture of the view back down the valley, but as we reached the summit, there was Lady Grey in front of us - far, far down the valley, but in bright sunshine! I can see why they call the cutting – Hemel op Aarde (Heaven on Earth) It was really like being on top of the world.
The road down to Lady Grey is a spectacular pass, winding right round the hills. Only the first part is steep, and this side of the mountain must be the rain shadow side, because it was mostly dry all the way down.
Lady Grey is as charming, as Barkly East is dull. We took 2 and a half hours to drive the 44km round on the dirt road. It would have been less than ½ hour on the tar. But I am so glad we chose the “mud, mud, glorious mud!”

On top of the world

Day 3 of our Passes Roadtrip – and today was something else!
We woke to patchy sunshine, and after phoning the Tiffendell Ski Resort and getting their OK on the road, we decided to take the plunge and do the round trip through Carlileshoek Pass and Volunteershoek pass to Wartrail.


It was an adventure! The road was wet but not too bad on the first leg of the trip, and then we reached a sign. I didn’t get a picture because I was rigid with fear by this stage, but it said “Engage lowest gear, keep revs up, take corners wide and drive with confidence!” Up an incredibly steep concrete switchback, Pete did all four – not that I saw much of it – my eyes were tight shut! Fortunately only a short distance before we got onto a strip road – steep, but straight. And then right onto the top of the world. The wind was howling, the sun seemed to be blown about by it, and we stopped for a cup of tea that was cold almost as soon as we poured it. Past the Tiffendell Ski Resort, and a long stretch across the roof of the Eastern Cape. The roads seem to be farm roads – lots of gates and cattle grids, and sheep and woolly cattle. We saw some people fixing the power lines, and a farmer supervising something to do with his sheep. The road stretched out ahead, we looked down into an inhabited valley – and then the road disappeared! We were at the top of a cliff, and no road in sight! Luckily, Miss Garmin was with us – and she showed that the road doubled back again and again – right below where we were. Sadly, the Garmin doesn’t show elevation – so I wasn’t really prepared for the 1:4 gradient. But I was brave and Pete drove safely. Only 3 hrs to do 42 km! We had to go so slowly that coming down Volunteershoek Pass, the Garmin asked if we would like to change to pedestrian mode.


Driving on to Wartrail – which, despite a dot on the map is not a town, but an area. We stopped for lunch at a farmhouse – it was raining, so instead of a meal in the garden, we had lunch in their lounge, entertained by the farmer’s dogs and 2 toddlers. It was only 10 km to Lundeans Pass, so we decided to do that too.
We hadn’t planned to go very far, just to the top, but were enticed further and further by the spectacular vistas that kept opening up – we drove almost to Telle Junction, before going back up. A few bumpy patches but nothing like Sani!


A long day, especially with the rain in the later afternoon, but a beautiful rainbow that we chased for about 10km on the way home – always just out of our reach.

Drive safe and be brave!

Nic sent us an SMS this morning - drive safe, Dad and be brave, Mom.

She and I both got out of the truck on Sani Pass and walked in January, rather than drive up the badly eroded road. She shares my fear of slippery, bumpy, windy, SCARY roads. So she knows exactly how anxious I felt, setting off on the first leg of the PASSES Roadtrip.

But today was great. As we drove along the roads between Maclear and Rhodes, I felt as close to the past as it is possible to do in a 4x4 vehicle. The road took the line of least resistance - as people who walked or rode must have done. The passes went up gradually, following the contours of the land. Sometimes they looked like a corkscrew, but I knew they were do-able. Looking back along roads we had gone along, and looking down on roads we were coming to was exhilarating, not scary. Unlike my friend Allison, I have no desire to ride along them on a bicycle! But from the comfort of the 4x4, it was a good expeience.

Tomorrow is another story - it's raining - by now it might even be snowing - and I'm not sure about a ride up the passes we had planned.

But for today, Pete drove safe and I was brave.

A whole new world ....

We started our road trip today - a bit of a late start, but by 10 we were on the road. Nothing new as far as Underberg - we do that thrip quite often, although it is a long time since we drove that way in Autumn, with the beautiful colours of the Liquid Amber trees.

But from there on, it was quite uncharted territory for me. I've been to Swartberg once, but whenever I've been to Kokstad, it's been through Umzimkulu, so that part of the road was quite new for me. But once we got to Swartberg, it was new all the way. On the Underberg side of the trip, it was misty and overcast, but after Swartberg, the sun came out, the clouds lifted and we could see the mountains on our left. A poorly maintained dirt road to Matatiele - a challenge to drive on, I think, although Pete made little of it, and then a really good tar road through Mount Fletcher and to Maclear.

The scenery is very rugged - lots of steep roads, and deeply incised rivers. And rocks - everywhere you look, the veld is full of rocks. Not much farming can take place, and there is very little to be seen in the way of "civilisation." Until we got to Mount Fletcher. We knew when we were getting close when we saw hundreds of school children moving along the road in bioth directions - coming from one school or another, on their way home. A few houses, a garage, and then we hit the metropolis. We were behind a big, slow lorry on the steep uphill of the main road, and so we had a good view of the street. Many "Cash and Carry" types stores, and big furniture chains. Lots of little stores - especially cell phone stores and take-aways. But the best was the accommodation. The Hotel - known as Castle Rock Hotel. It must have been a typical country hotel at one time, but now! Some of the windows were broken and closed with cardboard, and it looked decidedly seedy. I wonder who stays there? But the best was Sun City D, B and B. Scary stuff! We wished we'd had the camera and been able to take a photo to send to Nic to say this was out first choice of accommodation, but we'd driven on - shades of Addington in Christchurch!

Where do all the people in a town like that come from? Where are they going? Where are the houses for the furniture bought at Ellerines to be put in? It's a mystery to me.

On to Maclear, our lovely B and B and a long walk thi evening. Tomorrow we will keep the camera close at hand so we have some pictures to post. The R56 trip is underway!

To facebook or not to facebook

I enjoy facebook - I like keeping up to date with what my friends who write often are doing. I like to have a chuckle at the things some of my younger friends write. I like being surprised by someone who doesn't write often, and then updates status unexpectedly and gives me something to think about. I like the chance to play around - like changing my profile picture to one of my Mom's pictures this weekend. I like sharing my photos and seeing photos from friends and relations. I don't read everything everyone writes - it gets a bit boring at times - but I enjoy the feeling of connection it gives me.

But this week, three things have happened that make me wonder whether this is something I should go on with.

Firstly, a friend was trashed with the most vitriolic posts by one of her ex-pupils. She replied to a photo one of her pupils (who is her friend) put up - and then another ex-pupil, who is a friend of the first girl, took her on in the most vicious way. It was horrible - and because I am the teacher's friend, I got all this on my computer, even though it was nothing to do with me. It really distressed me to see how unhappy the girl was and how she is still harbouring such bitterness after such a long time. I admired A for being so restrained.

Next, one of my ex-pupils posted a death notice for another one. It spread like wildfire, with other kids crying and not being able to go to class, and messages pouring in. (Fortunately for me, not on my fb page, but I heard all about it from Sihle.) It turns out it was a hoax - and the perpetrator and the girl reported dead are laughing and saying how gullible everyone else is. In fact, V said :I'm famous! I'm a hero, I'm THE drama queen! People who took them to task and said how wrong they were, were ridiculed and told to get over themselves.

Lastly, another friend posted a message about how glad she was her husband had found his 14 year old son via facebook, after his mother had taken him away at 3 months. Most people were excited - and then - who knows how - the mother of the child took off at C, saying hideous things about the lies C was telling. And then again, and again, and again!

Why did I read them if they distressed me so much? Partly because they were there - in my face, where I could see them. Partly because I am probably a bit of a voyeur - I enjoy reading about intimate parts of other people's lives. And lastly, because I couldn't believe what I was seeing - maybe I've been very sheltered and have nice friends, so have only experienced nice comments before - but here was ugliness right out in the public eye.

I have experienced the "war of the e-mails" twice before, where "reply-all" has led to painful things being said and friendships being ended in a close group. But we were all part of the same group, and chose to be involved in it. But this week's posts dragged total strangers into your own problems - washing dirty laundry in the most public of forums.

What does that say about facebook? It's not as innocent as it seems - a social network has the power to be hugely dangerous and destructive, if not used carefully. It can be a community, but it can also be a forum to assassinate other people, to ridicule them and make them bitterly unhappy. Does the good outweigh the bad? How do I know who of my friends will be attacked and so know who to block so i don't have to experience it? If Vuyelwa were my friend I would "unfriend" her immediately - but what about the other, innocent victims.

The lesson for me today is - dont say anything on facebook that is unkind, cruel or even thoughtless. Don't hit enter until I've read what I wrote. Send a message if it's something everyone doesn't have to see. And "play nice" - fb isn't real life, it's a game - so keep it that way.

Mothers' Day

It's been great looking at all my friends on fb who have changed their profile pics to pics of their mums. Jen got in first with a picture of our mum, and I need to get my act together and find a pic on my portable hard drive - must be some, either from mom's 80th birthday, or from the pics we made into a slideshow for her funeral.

I miss my mum. In recent years she drove me crazy, and I don't miss the crazy old lady she became. I don't miss the arguments over stupid things - I could never just let it go - and I don't miss the responsibility of caring for her. But I miss the warm, loving person she really was. I miss the chats we had when I started to grow up. I miss the times we played cards together and cooked together. I miss having someone who was always on my side, even when I was wrong. Most of the time when we were growing up, Jen was "Dad's girl" and I was "Mom's girl." There were things each of us did with both parents that were our special things, but Jen was more like Dad and I not only looked more like Mom, but I was more like her in interests. Neither of us was really crazy about doing outdoor things, both of us would read all night and then need to sleep all day. Neither of us was really brave, and would try and escape from scary things - like spiders and mice and FROGS!! Dad and Jen would have to move them for us. And the teaching bond was very strong - we often shared ideas and went to talks and conferences together.

She would do anything for us - from helping us out with cash when we were struggling as young marrieds, to driving to fetch me for a day, missing a service she really wanted to go to, because I was so sad over a break-up with a boyfriend. When I fell and broke my ankle, she had spent the weekend with us, and had just got home when Pete phoned her. She didn't even stop for a cup of tea - she got straight back into the car and drove through the Umkomaas Valley (which she hated doing) again, so she could come and sit by my bed in hospital and then stay and look after the kids.

Mom was the best granny - she would do things with the kids we would never do - go and play in the Dingley Dell or get them a donkey- (yes, a real live donkey - it only lasted a few weeks before we had to give it back, but that was something they will always remember her for), or have tea parties in the garden or take them swimming in the porta pool when it was far too cold to swim, or make special Easter Eggs for Nic when she couldn't have real ones one year. And as a great gran, she was awesome - she read to Kev and played cricket with him and taught him about flags of the world, and played cards with him - even when he couldn't understand the rules. When they left to live in Westville - she would stand on the driveway as the car drove out, and tears would pour down her face as she waved to the sobbing little boy she loved so much. She kept a book of "Granny's funny sayings." She made a new one for Kev - and lost it, when she began to forget things - so she started another one.

I miss her - so many things, so many memories. I am so glad I had a chance to write a tribute for her that Pete read at her funeral - but I wish I had said the things I feel while she was still alive.

Happy Mothers' Day - Mommy. Enjoy the time with your mother - my "little granny" and know that you are remembered.

Fridays

I've just seen Brenda's photo of her glass of wine and her comment - Friday night and a glass of Nederberg Baronne completes the week.

Is it really Friday? This week seems to have slipped by without punctuation. We've worked, shopped, made plans for our Road Trip next week, and it seems strange that it's Friday and I haven't felt the relief that "Shoo! the week is over, no job I HAVE to go to tomorrow, nothing I have to do."

I wonder if that's how it was for people in a more leisured time. Did you just get up and do what you needed to do and not worry about deadlines and what day it was, and what had to be achieved in a certain amount of time? Did you even know what day it was? Did you care?

In the book I'm reading "The Painted Caves" by Jean Auel, a group of pre-historic people have gone on a journey, and the only time constraint is that they need to be home before the winter starts. So they spend extra time in places that they like. They lived with the seasons as their only time-marking - no weeks or months.

We're off on a journey on Monday - we're driving around Lesotho - not IN Lesotho, but around the outside. We start with the leg to Maclear, then to spend a few days at Rhodes, then on to Lady Grey, via Zastron and Ladybrand to Modderpoort, a night in Clarens and then home. Apart from the first day, we've left a shortish time for driving between stops, so we can stop and explore, drive up roads that look interesting, go over as many of the passes as I am brave enough to let Pete tackle and generally just wander.

It's something we haven't done before - well, not together, although that was often the shape of my holidays as a child - and I'm looking forward to it. It's going to be cold, hopefully not too wet to make the passes scary, and the Autumn colours should be stunning. So look out for pictures the next few days or so.

Next Friday we'll be in the Free State - I wonder if we'll realise or even care what day it is!

Ten Kilograms

Leaving a fairly active job (at least I had to go up and down lots of stairs each day!) and starting a new , potentially more sedentary lifestyle, got me thinking. I'm already hopelessly overweight. Do I want to be even worse? Do I want to get to the stage where I can't move around as I want to, be allowed to fly on an Air France plane without paying for 2 tickets, where I have to move my bed dowstairs because I can't climb the 2 flights of stairs each day?

So January saw a new resolution - lose weight, or else! When I was up in Mpumalanga, doing some work for UKZN, I met a girl who had lost an amazing amount of weight last year. She told me about Dianne Kress's book, "The Metabolism Miracle." Pete had some e-bucks, so I ordered it from Kalahari, but kept just talking about diet and exercise until the book arrived. On the first of March, after reading the first 3 chapters, we started phase one - NO CARBS! Now, for me, that was murder - no bread, no chocolate, no fruit, no potatoes. Fortunately, I was allowed to eat butter, bacon and cream and drink wine! (The body metabolises the sugar in wine the same way it metabolises fat!) You need to read the book - I'm not trying to sell the diet to you!

At the same time, we exercised - a walk most mornings, visits to the gym 3 times a week, some dancing and Wii Fit. I can walk to the top of Jesmond Road at quite a pace, and not have to stop for a rest. I can get around the circuit at Curves and feel at the end that my muscles have really worked. I am getting back on top of my records on Wii Fit. And my clothes are definitely looser - and so are the rings I recently paid a fortune to have made bigger!

We have started our second phase of the diet - adding carbs slowly so they don't cause blood sugar spikes - and I find I've lost the taste for bread - at least, the dead, dull boring brown bread that's allowed. I enjoyed my 1 and only Easter egg on Easter day, but not THAT much that I needed to go out and eat all the chocolate left in the house.

But now I get to the title of my blog - 10 kilograms! For the last week, my weight has kept dipping into the "10 kg lost" range, and now, 9 1/2 weeks into the diet, I can reliably say I have lost 10 kgs! Even with my running shoes on! The only down for me, is that Pete, who didn't need to lose so much weight, has lost nearly as much as me! It's just not fair!

I'm posting this here so that I HAVE to keep it up. A public declaration of an intent to keep losing weight - to be healthier and fitter. I plan to do a "tramp" in New Zealand at the end of the year. I'd like to do a "Fun Walk" before we leave. I'm saving up for new clothes (and the inevitable plastic surgery to fix all the bits of skin that won't go back into place because I've been fat for too long.)

10 kilograms is just the beginning!

Consultants

Pete reminded me of a story about a consultant.

A shepherd was in his field with all his sheep, when suddenly a yuppie in a 4x4 drove into his field. He said to the shepherd, "If I can tell you how many sheep you have in this field, will you give me one?" The shepherd, clearly puzzled, agreed. The yuppie got out his cell phone, linked up to a satellite, pushed a few more buttons and came up with an answer. To the shepherd's astonishment, he was right! "OK," said the yuppie, "We have a deal!" and loaded one of the animals into the back of the 4x4. The shepherd thought for a minute, then said , "If I can tell you what you do for a living, can I have my animal back?" Confident that he couldn't know, the yuppie agreed. "You're a consultant," said the shepherd. Dumbfounded, the yuppie said, "You're right. How did you know?" "Firstly," the shepherd said, "You arrived uninvited. Secondly, you told me something I already knew. And thirdly, that's not a sheep you have in your 4x4. It's my sheep dog!"

As from the middle of last month, my life as a consultant has started. I'm working for Schoolnet as Education Officer, with a job description neither I nor any of those I am employed by can really get our heads around. I'm contracted to work 60 hours a month, and I have to log the hours and even minutes I work, and show what I am doing in them. The time sheet is even more stressful than the stress of trying to set up a programme I don't understand, can't envisage and feel completely overwhelmed by. The temptation is to put it all into a neat little box of manageable proportions, but I know there is so much more than that out there, if only I can find the key to unlock it. I dream about Schoolnet membership. I talk about it, scribble notes, and find myself vainly searching the Internet for ideas. I know that it will fall into place in time, and I'll wonder why I got into such a tizz about it. My brain is being stretched beyond what I thought was possible - not since I did my Psychology Honours courses have I felt so mentally and intellectually alive. 21 years in a school doesn't prepare you for horizons as big as this; even when it was challenging, it was still known and comfortable (most of the time)

So what am I learning about myself? That feeling intimidated and inadequate is part of growing. Life is about change and stretching your horizons and feeling a bit afraid. Doing new things and starting a new career at 57 is exhilarating and bewildering. And being comfortable is just a downward path to mediocrity. It was time to start something new. Now, Lord give me strength to do it.

Museums and Archives

I was going to write about being a consultant today, but I went to a meeting this afternoon with my good friend, Mal, about archiving and museums in schools. We are both recently retired from St Nicholas, where both of us have worked for yonks, and we have been "given permission" to sort out the archives at the relatively new (21 years old) school. Not sure that it is really my dream job, but doing it with Mal will be fun and who knows what mayhem we could cause! Name photos incorrectly?

But my blog today isn't about the meeting (although some of the people there looked and sounded as if they should have been archived in acid free, light blocking bags themsleves!)or about St Nics - it's about what is worth preserving. What is it that we want kept from our lives for posterity?

I have always thought that my gift to posterity was as a teacher - and as most of my 30 odd years of teaching were at St Nics, I thought I'd be remembered there. But a mere 5 months after leaving, I realise how vain a dream that was! I feel like Julius Caesar - "The evil men do lives after them. The good is oft interred with their bones." No - individual children may remember me, but the school has moved on. (I said I wasn't going to talk about St Nics - so I'll stop.)

So what do I want to preserve?

Relationships. Mostly my family links, I think. Who I am in the context of who my people are. I'm reading the "Earth's Children" series, and there people are introduced with all their connections as well as their names. So I'd like to be remembered as "Deb, of the Waddington and Lyon tribes; married to Peter, of the Avery and Coss tribes; mother of Sarah and Nicky, adopted mother of Riaan, Ray and Sihle, and grandmother of Kevin; sister of Jen; aunt, teacher, friend to many."

I don't want to be in a museum or in an archive. I don't really care if my letters (and blogs) are read by anyone, or if my photos are preserved in acid proof envelopes, or whether my trophies are polished with special, non-abrasive polish, or whether I have the right kinds of displays to keep all the "stuff" about me. What I hope is that through my family connections, my gene pool will go on, and one day there will be another little girl, with crooked teeth, mousy hair and freckles, a girl who loves to read and to write. And then I know that I will have reached immortality.