It does occur to me from time to time that I only seem to use this blog to rant. Today, however, I was inspired by Wenchy and her Gratitude Journal. I don't think I have the time, discipline or patience to do a daily entry, but I'm going to make an effort to write about things for which I am grateful for the next while. Wenchy also does a 'proper' Thanksgiving celebration every year, which I also think is a fine idea. I may even steal it and start the tradition among our friends this year. I think it's important for adults to be grateful for what we have, and for our children to learn to appreciate their good fortune too.
So... to start...
I am grateful for my parents. My mom turns 70 next week, my dad passed away seven years ago, at the age of 77. There was a 15 year age gap between them, but their marriage was rock solid. They certainly had their differences, but I didn't hear them raise their voices to one another. Not once. There were a few times when the house was shrouded in silence over something or other, but they got over it after a while, and went back to being the rock-solid, caring, amazing parents that I grew up with.
My mom is uncomplicated and straightforward - qualities I value so much, and which I aspire to myself. My dad worked hard, had strong principles and a determination to do things properly and with meticulous attention to detail. The first two - I try really hard to follow, the third - well, I still need to practice that lots.
But this post of gratitude is because I am who I am because of the solid foundations that they gave me. I am grateful for that, and for the role they play in my life - both of them - every day.
Monday, 27 June 2011
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Dischem: what was your pharmacist THINKING?
Daniel had an earache Monday night, so Brett took him to our regular GP yesterday afternoon - I don't mess around when it comes to ears. He was given a prescription for antibiotics, which is what I expected, which Brett took to Dischem in Norwood to be filled.
He called to tell me that now Daniel's such a big boy, he's got Augmentin tablets, and has to take two big tablets, twice a day. He said he asked the pharmacist if he was really sure that that was what Daniel should be taking - and the guy just referred to the prescription, and said 'yes'. Alarm bells started going off, but I left it until I got home. In the meantime, had a discussion with my (nearly 70 year old) mother - who happens to be on a course of Augmentin too - two big tablets, twice a day. The alarm bells started ringing a little louder.
When I got home, I had a look at the pack of tablets - a pack that I recognise very well, as I have had those very meds before. Me, the adult. I BBM'd my doctor, who said that he may have made a mistake, but that I should definitely go back to Dischem. So I did.
When I got to the counter, I asked the pharmacist if it was correct that that medication had been prescribed for a five year old boy. She looked very alarmed, and then spent 10 very long minutes digging through a messy pile of the afternoon's paperwork to find the prescription.
Turns out that the doctor had indeed prescribed the wrong thing. I asked why the pharmacist hadn't questioned the doctor, as it was very clear to me - the person who is not a pharmacist - that the prescription was wrong. Oh, she says, my colleague checked with your husband. My husband? The writer and publisher? The one who's NOT a pharmacist? (When actually it was him who queried with the pharmacist, not the other way around). When I asked how they could possibly dispense such heavy antibiotics for a five year old boy, she snarkily pointed out that his age is not on the prescription. No, it's not. But it very definitely is on their system, and my child was standing there in front of them - clearly not an adult.
Am I wrong in believing that the pharmacists are the experts in medication here? They are the ones who are supposed to look at the prescription, look at the person for whom it is prescribed, and if there are GLARING errors (like a not-that-sick child standing there, about to be given a heavy adult dose of antibiotic), that they should maybe pick up the phone and question the doctor?
Our doctor did apologise, and when I asked, he explained that the adult dose is four times the paediatric dose. Daniel would have had severe diarrhea if we had given him what was dispensed. The pharmacist would surely know that too?
Our doctor was apologetic, admitted his error, and is a good guy who makes himself totally available to his patients. We will stick with him, but we will make him check any prescriptions twice before we leave his office.
Dischem - with whom we spend a fair amount of money each year - will not see us again.
He called to tell me that now Daniel's such a big boy, he's got Augmentin tablets, and has to take two big tablets, twice a day. He said he asked the pharmacist if he was really sure that that was what Daniel should be taking - and the guy just referred to the prescription, and said 'yes'. Alarm bells started going off, but I left it until I got home. In the meantime, had a discussion with my (nearly 70 year old) mother - who happens to be on a course of Augmentin too - two big tablets, twice a day. The alarm bells started ringing a little louder.
When I got home, I had a look at the pack of tablets - a pack that I recognise very well, as I have had those very meds before. Me, the adult. I BBM'd my doctor, who said that he may have made a mistake, but that I should definitely go back to Dischem. So I did.
When I got to the counter, I asked the pharmacist if it was correct that that medication had been prescribed for a five year old boy. She looked very alarmed, and then spent 10 very long minutes digging through a messy pile of the afternoon's paperwork to find the prescription.
Turns out that the doctor had indeed prescribed the wrong thing. I asked why the pharmacist hadn't questioned the doctor, as it was very clear to me - the person who is not a pharmacist - that the prescription was wrong. Oh, she says, my colleague checked with your husband. My husband? The writer and publisher? The one who's NOT a pharmacist? (When actually it was him who queried with the pharmacist, not the other way around). When I asked how they could possibly dispense such heavy antibiotics for a five year old boy, she snarkily pointed out that his age is not on the prescription. No, it's not. But it very definitely is on their system, and my child was standing there in front of them - clearly not an adult.
Am I wrong in believing that the pharmacists are the experts in medication here? They are the ones who are supposed to look at the prescription, look at the person for whom it is prescribed, and if there are GLARING errors (like a not-that-sick child standing there, about to be given a heavy adult dose of antibiotic), that they should maybe pick up the phone and question the doctor?
Our doctor did apologise, and when I asked, he explained that the adult dose is four times the paediatric dose. Daniel would have had severe diarrhea if we had given him what was dispensed. The pharmacist would surely know that too?
Our doctor was apologetic, admitted his error, and is a good guy who makes himself totally available to his patients. We will stick with him, but we will make him check any prescriptions twice before we leave his office.
Dischem - with whom we spend a fair amount of money each year - will not see us again.
Monday, 28 March 2011
We're kick(box)ing the Spur into touch
Yesterday we headed to Greenstone Mall to do our usual dose of weekend admin and shopping. On the way, the littlest Haggard fell asleep, so I took him and Daniel to the Spur, while Brett did his admin - the idea being that the boys would play, we'd have a decent-ish meal, and all live happily ever after...
Well...
The restaurant was completely packed, which is great for the Spur, but it meant that we couldn't sit anywhere near the kiddies' play area. All well and good - space is limited, and Daniel could find his way back to us when he wanted to. Matthew is too little to see over the tables and chairs etc, and is too little to be seen too, so when he came looking for us, crying, he got lost in the maze of tables. Just as well ExMi was there too with her family - she spotted him and kindly brought him back to us. That's not the Spur's fault though - it was our problem, I do understand.
Now I know weekends are meant for families to spend quality time together - and we do. But there's merit to restaurants with playgrounds - a whole mealtime is a long time for two active little boys to sit still, and there's no denying that it's a relief for Mom and Dad to have some time to eat a meal relatively undisturbed. The Spur playgrounds have climbing walls, trampolines, blackboards and climbing apparatus, which are all great.
However, what I fundamentally disagree with is the barrage of PlayStation consoles in the play area - most particularly the one with the kickboxing game, to which Daniel migrated like the proverbial moth to a flame. Scary thing is, even though he's never played anything like that before (we don't let our boys play violent games on our Wii), by the time I saw what he was playing, he was getting perfect scores. By that time, his brother was awake, so I asked Daniel to go away from the games, and to play with his brother.
Which was when it really struck home why I don't let them play games like that at home. Within two minutes of them playing one another, Daniel was kickboxing his brother, and wrestling him to the ground, far more forcefully than I've ever seen him do. Which was when they were brought out of the play area, to sit with us until we were finished.
Apart from the PlayStation issue, I left the restaurant with a raging headache - the noise of the crowds was clearly not sufficiently stressful - we had to have loud 80s music blasted at us as well, with the odd birthday singing and clapping as well, all spiced up with crying children, banging from the open kitchen, slow service because of the busy-ness (and the resulting grumpy husband)... and then there was the fun of trying to walk in the greasy floor. I might sound like a bit of a complaining Mother Grundy here, and I do understand that restaurants use different tools to create atmosphere, but the only word to describe my Sunday Spur experience was: mayhem.
So... we won't be going back. Definitely not soon. Maybe never. Even though my fillet was very tasty...
Friday, 25 March 2011
Kooking at Karma
My friend Charmain spotted a Wicount deal for a cooking class at Karma. Now, I've never eaten at Karma before, but I've heard that their food is legendary, so I paid over my R150 in the week of no credit cards (a whole other long story), and we went to the Fourways restaurant last Tuesday to learn how to cook Indian food.
Shyrose was our teacher - she's the owner, a lovely lady with an interesting accent and a very gentle way of teaching. Apparently there are some secrets to cooking good Indian food - although there are so many regional and cultural influences that it's ok to not be too much of a purist, apparently.
Secret no 1 is the spices. You add the whole spices (mustard seed, cumin etc) early on in the cooking process - and you don't cook them until they pop, as some recipes suggest. Rather just toast them a bit...
Secret no 2 - when you cook the onions, cook them until the flavour and colour you prefer. This will determine the colour and the flavour of the final product.
Secret no 3 - cook the onions first and then add the tomatoes... and then you cook them until they melt into one another. This is how you get a smooth gravy from a foundation of tomatoes and onions.
Charmain and I made a curried bean dish (way nicer than I thought it sounded) and onion bhajias. The surprise of the evening was the dip that was brought out for the bhajias and the potato kachoris - the recipe is below.
We rounded off the cooking lesson by learning how to make chocolate samoosas. Oh. My. Word. Easy really - melted chocolate, bit of cream, bit of butter, chilli flakes and almond slivers, all melted together and then refrigerated. Wrap up spoonfuls in samosa pastry (with cumin in it), and then freeze. Deep fry quickly in hot oil - the pastry goes all crispy, and the chocolate goes all gooey. Perfect way to round off a meal, even though it was a little (!) rich!
It was a good night out, and fun to do with a good friend. I'd recommend it as a different night out, for you and a friend, or for a group of friends. Eating the yummy food that you've cooked at the end of the evening rounds it all off very nicely! Just a note - don't get excited by the promised goody bag - it's a small bag of Spekko rice, a couple of recipe bookmarks and a travel brochure. But then you don't go to such a thing for the goody bag I guess :-)
Here's the recipe for the dip - be careful - it's addictive. It think it would go with just about anything on the planet. Anything at all.
I've just mentioned the two recipes to tease you into going, and to be fair to the restaurant. Shyrose emailed us about 12 recipes, for everything from the dreamaliciously delicious Butter Chicken to the startlingly divine Potato and Aubergine dry curry.
Shyrose was our teacher - she's the owner, a lovely lady with an interesting accent and a very gentle way of teaching. Apparently there are some secrets to cooking good Indian food - although there are so many regional and cultural influences that it's ok to not be too much of a purist, apparently.
Secret no 1 is the spices. You add the whole spices (mustard seed, cumin etc) early on in the cooking process - and you don't cook them until they pop, as some recipes suggest. Rather just toast them a bit...
Secret no 2 - when you cook the onions, cook them until the flavour and colour you prefer. This will determine the colour and the flavour of the final product.
Secret no 3 - cook the onions first and then add the tomatoes... and then you cook them until they melt into one another. This is how you get a smooth gravy from a foundation of tomatoes and onions.
Charmain and I made a curried bean dish (way nicer than I thought it sounded) and onion bhajias. The surprise of the evening was the dip that was brought out for the bhajias and the potato kachoris - the recipe is below.
We rounded off the cooking lesson by learning how to make chocolate samoosas. Oh. My. Word. Easy really - melted chocolate, bit of cream, bit of butter, chilli flakes and almond slivers, all melted together and then refrigerated. Wrap up spoonfuls in samosa pastry (with cumin in it), and then freeze. Deep fry quickly in hot oil - the pastry goes all crispy, and the chocolate goes all gooey. Perfect way to round off a meal, even though it was a little (!) rich!
It was a good night out, and fun to do with a good friend. I'd recommend it as a different night out, for you and a friend, or for a group of friends. Eating the yummy food that you've cooked at the end of the evening rounds it all off very nicely! Just a note - don't get excited by the promised goody bag - it's a small bag of Spekko rice, a couple of recipe bookmarks and a travel brochure. But then you don't go to such a thing for the goody bag I guess :-)
Here's the recipe for the dip - be careful - it's addictive. It think it would go with just about anything on the planet. Anything at all.
Coriander and Mint Sauce
1 cup coconut powder
½ cup chopped mint
1 tspn salt
2 tbsp green chilies blended
1 cup chopped coriander
6 tblspn yoghurt
¼ cup water (add as per your liking if you like it saucy add more water )
I've just mentioned the two recipes to tease you into going, and to be fair to the restaurant. Shyrose emailed us about 12 recipes, for everything from the dreamaliciously delicious Butter Chicken to the startlingly divine Potato and Aubergine dry curry.
Tuesday, 21 December 2010
Things I learned in 2010
This year has been one of highs, lows and lessons. I know that there are still 10 days left of the year, but here are my thoughts anyway...
The World Cup was a bigger part of my life than I thought it could possibly be. I was proud of South Africa, I was proud of what we achieved, and I loved the tangible atmosphere of excitement that lasted for a full month. We were in France for the final, and it was only the fact that we were at my best friend's wedding that made that ok.
Changing jobs was far more stressful than I thought it would be. However, I'm really glad I did it. I am much happier where I am, I enjoy the people, I feel challenged, and I feel valued. In spite of all the drama with the Stupid People in HR and my daily swearing at the antiquated technology we use, I am glad I moved.
I was heartbroken when friends of ours died in a fire in July. I didn't realise how heartbroken until I fell to pieces at the most unexpected times. Through the process, I learned that it's ok to be angry, that in a situation like that, there is no normal response to such an abnormal situation. I learned that there are no wrong feelings, that suppressing feelings and responses is simply a bad idea. I've learned to articulate my feelings more, and Brett doesn't have to drag my thoughts out of me kicking and screaming any more. I can drive past the property without dwelling on the details that did my head in, but I still think of them, so often. No more melting into little puddles of tears though. Or big ones.
I have been disappointed in friends, for different reasons. I know that I have probably also disappointed two of them. Something I still have to figure out is how to be a better friend, because this irony is not lost on me: the friends that I keep in touch with the most, that I trust and 'talk' to the most, all live in different cities to the one I do.
I have learned to pick my battles. Or my crusades, for that matter. Brett's half brother (12) moved onto our property at the beginning of the year with his dad, and for a while, I made the situation my problem. Difficult not to take responsibility for a troubled 12 year old who eats meals in your home, and who is idolised by your own children. But the thing is - you can only help someone who wants to be helped. He didn't, his father didn't, and who was I anyway to try to interfere. So l let go...
Growing vegetables is a great idea, but there's something I'm missing - I haven't yet been able to grow enough to cut back on how many I buy. But it's lots of fun, and the boys love picking the fruit and eating veggies straight off the plant. The simple things are the good things. A lesson that should be applied in all sorts of situations I guess...
It's not a new lesson, but something I've been aware of all year. I am blessed, very blessed indeed. I have a husband who loves me, and who I love. I have two magnificent amazing boys. I have a beautiful home. I have a great support structure. I have a loving and incredible mom, and a great mom-in-law. I am healthy. We live a comfortable lifestyle. There are so many people around us who are struggling with so many things. I am blessed in so many ways, and for these I am so grateful.
The World Cup was a bigger part of my life than I thought it could possibly be. I was proud of South Africa, I was proud of what we achieved, and I loved the tangible atmosphere of excitement that lasted for a full month. We were in France for the final, and it was only the fact that we were at my best friend's wedding that made that ok.
Changing jobs was far more stressful than I thought it would be. However, I'm really glad I did it. I am much happier where I am, I enjoy the people, I feel challenged, and I feel valued. In spite of all the drama with the Stupid People in HR and my daily swearing at the antiquated technology we use, I am glad I moved.
I was heartbroken when friends of ours died in a fire in July. I didn't realise how heartbroken until I fell to pieces at the most unexpected times. Through the process, I learned that it's ok to be angry, that in a situation like that, there is no normal response to such an abnormal situation. I learned that there are no wrong feelings, that suppressing feelings and responses is simply a bad idea. I've learned to articulate my feelings more, and Brett doesn't have to drag my thoughts out of me kicking and screaming any more. I can drive past the property without dwelling on the details that did my head in, but I still think of them, so often. No more melting into little puddles of tears though. Or big ones.
I have been disappointed in friends, for different reasons. I know that I have probably also disappointed two of them. Something I still have to figure out is how to be a better friend, because this irony is not lost on me: the friends that I keep in touch with the most, that I trust and 'talk' to the most, all live in different cities to the one I do.
I have learned to pick my battles. Or my crusades, for that matter. Brett's half brother (12) moved onto our property at the beginning of the year with his dad, and for a while, I made the situation my problem. Difficult not to take responsibility for a troubled 12 year old who eats meals in your home, and who is idolised by your own children. But the thing is - you can only help someone who wants to be helped. He didn't, his father didn't, and who was I anyway to try to interfere. So l let go...
Growing vegetables is a great idea, but there's something I'm missing - I haven't yet been able to grow enough to cut back on how many I buy. But it's lots of fun, and the boys love picking the fruit and eating veggies straight off the plant. The simple things are the good things. A lesson that should be applied in all sorts of situations I guess...
It's not a new lesson, but something I've been aware of all year. I am blessed, very blessed indeed. I have a husband who loves me, and who I love. I have two magnificent amazing boys. I have a beautiful home. I have a great support structure. I have a loving and incredible mom, and a great mom-in-law. I am healthy. We live a comfortable lifestyle. There are so many people around us who are struggling with so many things. I am blessed in so many ways, and for these I am so grateful.
Thursday, 2 December 2010
Sharlotte's traditional Zulu wedding
Last weekend we attended my colleague Sharlotte's wedding in rural KZN. We were originally supposed to go to the 'white' wedding on the Friday night, but then her family over-invited guests and we were uninvited from that... After initial anger, we quite enjoyed our peaceful night at the Little Switzerland hotel, and then we headed off the next morning to the traditional event, at Sharlotte's Gogo's house.
I got to play with the Sony Alpha digital SLR, which was loads of fun - particularly the panorama feature, which in its own right, is a good enough reason to buy the camera...
This is a panorama shot of the view from Gogo's house. Very rural, but the marquee on the right is where the bulk of the festivities happened. The sheep was slaughtered in the patch of veld to the left of the pic...
I didn't know that Sharlotte could sing so beautifully - but she can! When we got there, everyone was in the lounge having a prayer service, and then she led them in singing some hymns.
So much joy, so much excitement. It really struck home how much pressure there must be on people like Sharlotte and Mpho (her husband, who also works with us) - they have such strong roots in rural tradition, but their families invest everything in their future. There is such pressure for them to succeed, everyone wants to be and is so very proud of them.
This was a bit later - the families exchange gifts. Well, the women seem to do all the marrying part - the men were sitting outside watching. Sharlotte is Zulu and Mpho is Sotho, which made this a bit of a blend of cultures. In Zulu tradition, apparently, you give clothes to the bride's family, and in Sotho tradition, you give blankets.
This was one of Sharlotte's aunts...
And this was one of Mpho's aunts - she has the most joyful face!
The lady in green with the crutches is Sharlotte's Gogo who raised her, and sitting in front of her is Sharlotte's mom, who lives in Bryanston and has her own staff. I found it fascinating how traditional roles are re-assumed as soon as people get back to the rural setting.
These are local youngsters who came to 'fight' Mpho off. They were incredible, lots of singing and drumming, and were very disciplined.
Each warrior took his turn demonstrating his prowess, with lots of footstomping and hurling of selves onto the ground. Gogo's house is in the background - probably the best appointed home in the whole village.
The problem with stills is that you don't get the sound and the action...
Sharlotte joined in and did her own bit of jigging around...
As did one of the aunties...
Mpho's family gave the women in Sharlotte's family dresses - all were of the same red fabric, but each dress was unique.
Everyone was very proud of their new outfits...
Sharlotte then went inside to change from her 'maiden' outfit into the clothing of a woman married to a Sotho man.
While she was changing, there was lots of singing and dancing. And the slaughtering of the sheep. The bit that I found most distressing about this was the slaughtered sheep's friend, who got to watch the demise of his mate, followed by his skinning and dismembering. There'd be a lot of money for animal shrinks in the rural areas, methinks... ;-)
Sharlotte emerged in her 'married' clothing. Complete with heavy blanket in the 36 degree heat.
More singing and celebration...
The ladies in their new dresses (which were over the dresses that they arrived in ... in that 36 degree heat...)
The two families then sang 'at' each other - lots of joy and happiness here. Note the technology - the only place I've seen more Blackberries in one location is at a 27 Dinner... ;-)
More singing, with the presents in the foreground. There must have been about 25 thick fluffy blankets... in that 36 degree heat... ;-)
This is the oldest lady in the village. She apparently often tells Sharlotte that she wants to go to Joburg to work and look after children.
What is a wedding without a DJ? This was the DJ's setup...
The handing over of blankets to Mpho's family. My memory card ran out at this point, so this is about as far as I got. We left shortly afterwards, so that we would be home in Joburg before sunset.
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Caught between a rock and a spooky place
When I was growing up, Hallowe’en was a thing we saw on American movies – it was never a big deal in South Africa, probably because our parents were concerned about the security of children wandering around the streets after dark, and because dressing up in black was probably against some apartheid law or other. While I think most parents still have security concerns, the advent of security estates and boomed off areas has created safe pockets for trick or treating – and then of course there’s the business opportunity for everyone from Pick n Pay and Woolworths to China City to make extra income from costumes and themed sweets.
Playschools, crèches, primary schools and communities have Hallowe’en themed parties across the suburbs now, commemorating a Celtic festival (or a selection of festivals, depending on your choice of origin) that they have little knowledge or insight about. Children whose parents have spent a small (or large) amount of money on costumes compete to see who is dressed the best, and who can liberate the largest haul of sweets from willing neighbours. Mostly, the ‘tricking’ is pretty harmless, but those houses who choose not to participate are at risk of the displeasure of mischievous participants.
So why am I particularly ‘omgekrap’ about an extended fancy dress party?
Hallowe’en is not a part of my culture, just as Makar Sankranti, Purim and Hola Mahalla are not part of my culture – and interesting though they are, I don’t celebrate them. Hallowe’en may have been a part of the culture of my Celtic ancestors, but it has never part of my culture as a Christian-raised South African. I don’t see why we celebrate summer’s end at the beginning of our summer (which is one of the backgrounds to Hallowe’en), and seeing as we are blessed with electricity these days, we don’t need to consider the intricacies of old fires and new ones.
My children are blessed to want for nothing. They have all the toys they could ever need, they have a warm bed at night, and while I’m sure they would say they could never have enough, they have plenty of sweets and treats to break the monotony of good healthy food!
Yet, each year, the note comes home from playschool – please dress your child up for Hallowe’en*. We see neighbourhoods organizing trick-or-treating – which in my (admittedly rather cynical) point of view is nothing more than door-to-door begging for something that you really don’t need.
So what do I do about Hallowe’en, without making my children the odd one out? Every year, I remember at the last minute that I need to buy a costume of some sort, and I tear out to the nearest shop and make a plan (adding stress to an already pretty full calendar). I put my boys in costumes because I don’t want them to be the only ones in ‘civvies’ at their school, completely left out of the fun of dressing up and shouting ‘BOO!’ at their friends all day (and I will admit – it is fun for them). Peer pressure is a wonderful marketing tool, isn’t it?
But I will not have my children begging for sweets when there are others not so far out there who don’t even have food for one meal a day, never mind three. If that makes me a horrible mother, then so be it.
*In all fairness, it is never an instruction from the schools my boys attend, it is always a request.
This blog post originally appeared on www.jozikids.co.za
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