I did it - made the break, took the leap and flew half way round the world to start a new life!
Today, it is exactly 11 weeks since we arrived in New Zealand, landing at Wellington International airport on a Sunday morning at the end of January. Since then, we've moved three times, I started work at a new job, my girl started her new school and the good news is that so far, we are 95% thrilled to be here. It's beautiful, cultural, peaceful yet vibrant, friendly and very civilized.
The other 5% is interesting. I don't miss South Africa except in a generalized, slightly nostalgic kind of way - such as when I remember Scarborough beach, Kirstenbosch gardens, the squatter camps on the way to the airport, the hospital wards where I did my training years ago, the farm I grew up on .. that kind of thing. All the memories of times long ago and scenes unchanging ... I do miss our people: mum and dad, family get togethers, my book club and writers group friends - that warm sense of belonging that years spent together brings with it. My girl misses her best friends back home, but within days of arriving, she met a lovely British girl with the same zany sense of humor who also loves shopping and shoes and music and movies - and at school, she's part of a small group of new and good friends where she feels welcome and accepted. So life is good for her in that regard.
However, there are two things that have surprised me - and yet, neither one should have! The first is the comparative lack of emails/communcation from all the people I left behind. In the first few weeks, I spent a lot of time emailing and updating our new journey blog, yet comments were minimal and emails even fewer. My two brothers, being family, are the worst offenders. So far, I've had NO emails from the one, and only two one-line replies to a direct question from the other. Hmmmf.
Back in Fish Hoek, it took years and years of effort and taking the initiative before I felt part of a small group of like-minded folks. We were all church folk to start with and coming in as a forty-something single mom meant I didn't fit the mould - I couldn't be invited to dinner because who would the husband talk to? I worked fulltime mostly, so I didn't get to hang out with other mums at extramural and sports events. Added to that, I'm an intelligent introvert who doesn't relate easily to the somewhat superficial chit-chat of parties and pubs and so on - well, it took a while before I felt I belonged. Those friends I made were important to me, but I didn't see them daily or even weekly. So why was I surprised to not get emails back from all of them? Maintaining long-distance friendship requires energy and time, and even back in Fish Hoek, both these commodities was in short supply.
The other thing that surprises me is that I'm starting to feel a yearning to be in a place of worship again. I don't want to go to a church service full of happy clappy songs and fiery sermons about redemption and sin and atonement and so on. But deep inside me there is a yearning to be in a place where there is a sense of presence, a sense of the sacred; a place where I can be silent and still and go deep inside myself to just be quiet and listen and feel ... there is a definite longing for the God I used to love.
If I think about it, I shouldn't be surprised by this either, especially given that this is Easter. I grew up with this God. He is woven into the tapestry of my past. His values, his judgements and his hopes for me permeated every aspect of my life for well over thirty years. I'm still stirred by music like Handel's Messiah, by a few (very few) contemporary christian songs and by the writings of modern christians like Henri Nouwen and Kathleen Norris. My head tells me one thing, but my heart instinctively yearns for the old, safe, emotionally-comforting God I used to know. The good thing is that I'm getting to the place where there is room inside my agnosticism for growth of all kinds. :-)
We'll see. It's a new world, a new life and a new me ... I've even been on a real date since arriving in Welly, with a very decent and likeable man. I'm not ready for romance yet, not by a long chalk, but life is full of possibilities right now, and that's a good place to be!
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Saturday, April 11
Tuesday, September 16
Mamma Mia
Today, my 16-year-old daughter and I went to see the glorious and joy-filled Mamma Mia, in which Meryl Streep just blew me away with her funny, sad and altogether amazing singing. As a die hard ABBA fan, I was sold before I even bought the tickets, but you never know ... non-ABBA people singing ABBA songs? But it was sheer delight, from start to finish - a celebration of the strength and joy of being a woman.
But the bit that I didn't see coming really hit me hard. Meryl Streep is helping her daughter get dressed for the wedding ... and she sings to her. This song completely destroyed me .. I wept like a baby. Here was this go-it-alone single mom loving her little girl and saying goodbye to her. She was me, in every line:
But the bit that I didn't see coming really hit me hard. Meryl Streep is helping her daughter get dressed for the wedding ... and she sings to her. This song completely destroyed me .. I wept like a baby. Here was this go-it-alone single mom loving her little girl and saying goodbye to her. She was me, in every line:
Slipping Through My Fingers.
Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness
And I have to sit down for a while
The feeling that I'm losing her forever
And without really entering her world
I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter
That funny little girl
Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see what's in her mind
Each time I think I'm close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table
Barely awake, I let precious time go by
Then when shes gone there's that odd melancholy feeling
And a sense of guilt I can't deny
What happened to the wonderful adventures
The places I had planned for us to go
(slipping through my fingers all the time)
Well, some of that we did but most we didn't
And why I just don't know
Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see what's in her mind
Each time I think I'm close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture
And save it from the funny tricks of time
Slipping through my fingers...
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Schoolbag in hand she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile...
Thursday, May 22
Grovel, grovel, grovel ...
Last night, I totally put my foot in it with my darlin' daughter.
A couple of weeks ago, she told me that she and her friend Lana* would be going to the library after school and Lana would be giving her some tutoring in Life Science. (Lana is a very bright gal!) So last night my gal says to me that today, after school, her friend Jo* (another bright girl) would be coming home with her to work on Physical Science. I was a leetle bitty distracted at the time (watching something on TV) and so I say: 'That's so cool, darling. I'm glad you've got such great friends to tutor you in all this stuff.'
A deafening silence ensues, loud enough to make me realize something is badly wrong. I glance over at her and see her staring at me in that teenagerish fashion - rolling her eyes without actually moving them - so I say: "What? What?"
"Actually, mom," she says, "I'm going to be tutoring her."
Luckily for me, my gal is a wonderful person and accepted my groveling very graciously.
** not their real names
Luckily for me, my gal is a wonderful person and accepted my groveling very graciously.
** not their real names
Monday, October 15
True Grit
This weekend, I spent a night with my parents, who are now in their mid-70s and living in a retirement village about an hour from us. My kids had gone to visit their dad and I had a sudden yen to go hang out with the old folks back home :-) I also wanted to bring them up to date on my plans for next year and its much easier to talk big things through face-to-face rather than over the phone.
And it's funny - you think you know all there is to know about your parents and then suddenly, you learn something new. Sunday morning, mom and I were talking about the past, and how we as a family nearly emigrated to Australia in 1963, when I was five. I've always known the story, about how sailing was delayed so my dad had to take a temporary job. And about how we moved to a small village an hour outside of Cape Town while we waited for the three months to pass.
But what I hadn't known was that apparently my gran (his mum) was terribly, terribly unhappy about her only son going off to Oz. And my own mum was also terribly, terribly unhappy about moving to a foreign country with two small kids and a husband with a fondness for the bottle. They were all praying that the move wouldn't happen. So when sailing was delayed, and Dad had to take a temp job, granny and grandpa started driving an hour each way to visit us every Sunday. I'm guessing they all worked really hard to persuade my dad that emigration was a bad idea.
It worked. We never went. My dad worked for that same company (and that same shitty boss) until he took a medical retirement 14 years ago at 61.
The other thing is that in his 20s, my dad was an alcoholic. He always said that when he became a Christian, God set him free from drink. But listening to my mom talk last Sunday morning, I realized it wasn't quite as simple as that.
Those first years in that lousy job must have been difficult. I'm saying this because mom told me that in those days he drank a lot. Vodka in the morning, brandy at night. Looking back now, I wonder how much of that drinking resulted from the fact that his dream had been taken away from him - no moving to Australia, no chance to do whatever it was he might have dreamed of doing over there. Instead, he found himself counting beans for a large agricultural company, working for the boss from hell, in a country town far from anywhere, with a wife and two little girls to support. Maybe he gave up, gave in to the pressure to stay in SA, pressure applied very lovingly by his own mother, father and wife. And for a man who was used to finding solace in the bottle, well - is it any surprise that he started binge-drinking again?
He also had regular attacks of the so-called Monday Morning Flu. One day, in desperation, my mom called the doctor. He came in after evening surgery. Mom was putting us kids to bed and she pointed listlessly at the bedroom, saying 'He's in there...'. The doc knew them both well and he knew what was up. That night, he put the writing on the wall for my dad. Told him that if he kept on boozing, not only would he destroy his family but he'd also probably kill himself as his liver was taking severe strain.
And my dad heard him. He stopped drinking. Just like that. Then and there. Apparently, he had one more bender in Dec of that year, but after that nothing. Mom said those early weeks and months of sobriety were hell - he eschewed any form of help, refused AA, refused counselling, refused medication. And to this day, he doesn't touch alcohol.
Now that is pretty damn amazing, I think. But the point here is that he did it alone, by sheer will power and determination. At this point, 'God' had nothing to do with it, at least from his perspective. My mum had started going to church by then, but my dad, a 'back-slidden' Christian, wanted nothing to do with it. As the years went by, he slowly started a spiritual journey of his own - reading books (including The Christian Agnostic by L D Weatherhead) and listening to church on the radio in the dark - which culminated in his eventual return to faith, some time after the birth of my youngest brother in 1969.
Later on Sunday morning, mom came to me and hugged me. "I know I talked a lot about dad and our troubles this morning," she said. "But one thing you must know is that throughout it all, we both loved our kids above everything else. You were the ones who mattered."
That story changed my mental picture of my dad a bit, not that it was a bad one to start with. Quite the contrary, in fact. And it inspires me. I may look like my mom and I share her loony sense of humor, but generally I'm a lot more like my dad - logical, analytical, intellectual, etc. And then of course there are the not-so-good traits we share, but lets not go there now. And given that no family is perfect, there are, of course, 'Issues' on all sides, some of which I know I still have to deal with.
But still. I'm proud of him. I'm proud of his grit and determination. And I'm proud to be his daughter.
And it's funny - you think you know all there is to know about your parents and then suddenly, you learn something new. Sunday morning, mom and I were talking about the past, and how we as a family nearly emigrated to Australia in 1963, when I was five. I've always known the story, about how sailing was delayed so my dad had to take a temporary job. And about how we moved to a small village an hour outside of Cape Town while we waited for the three months to pass.
But what I hadn't known was that apparently my gran (his mum) was terribly, terribly unhappy about her only son going off to Oz. And my own mum was also terribly, terribly unhappy about moving to a foreign country with two small kids and a husband with a fondness for the bottle. They were all praying that the move wouldn't happen. So when sailing was delayed, and Dad had to take a temp job, granny and grandpa started driving an hour each way to visit us every Sunday. I'm guessing they all worked really hard to persuade my dad that emigration was a bad idea.
It worked. We never went. My dad worked for that same company (and that same shitty boss) until he took a medical retirement 14 years ago at 61.
The other thing is that in his 20s, my dad was an alcoholic. He always said that when he became a Christian, God set him free from drink. But listening to my mom talk last Sunday morning, I realized it wasn't quite as simple as that.
Those first years in that lousy job must have been difficult. I'm saying this because mom told me that in those days he drank a lot. Vodka in the morning, brandy at night. Looking back now, I wonder how much of that drinking resulted from the fact that his dream had been taken away from him - no moving to Australia, no chance to do whatever it was he might have dreamed of doing over there. Instead, he found himself counting beans for a large agricultural company, working for the boss from hell, in a country town far from anywhere, with a wife and two little girls to support. Maybe he gave up, gave in to the pressure to stay in SA, pressure applied very lovingly by his own mother, father and wife. And for a man who was used to finding solace in the bottle, well - is it any surprise that he started binge-drinking again?
He also had regular attacks of the so-called Monday Morning Flu. One day, in desperation, my mom called the doctor. He came in after evening surgery. Mom was putting us kids to bed and she pointed listlessly at the bedroom, saying 'He's in there...'. The doc knew them both well and he knew what was up. That night, he put the writing on the wall for my dad. Told him that if he kept on boozing, not only would he destroy his family but he'd also probably kill himself as his liver was taking severe strain.
And my dad heard him. He stopped drinking. Just like that. Then and there. Apparently, he had one more bender in Dec of that year, but after that nothing. Mom said those early weeks and months of sobriety were hell - he eschewed any form of help, refused AA, refused counselling, refused medication. And to this day, he doesn't touch alcohol.
Now that is pretty damn amazing, I think. But the point here is that he did it alone, by sheer will power and determination. At this point, 'God' had nothing to do with it, at least from his perspective. My mum had started going to church by then, but my dad, a 'back-slidden' Christian, wanted nothing to do with it. As the years went by, he slowly started a spiritual journey of his own - reading books (including The Christian Agnostic by L D Weatherhead) and listening to church on the radio in the dark - which culminated in his eventual return to faith, some time after the birth of my youngest brother in 1969.
Later on Sunday morning, mom came to me and hugged me. "I know I talked a lot about dad and our troubles this morning," she said. "But one thing you must know is that throughout it all, we both loved our kids above everything else. You were the ones who mattered."
That story changed my mental picture of my dad a bit, not that it was a bad one to start with. Quite the contrary, in fact. And it inspires me. I may look like my mom and I share her loony sense of humor, but generally I'm a lot more like my dad - logical, analytical, intellectual, etc. And then of course there are the not-so-good traits we share, but lets not go there now. And given that no family is perfect, there are, of course, 'Issues' on all sides, some of which I know I still have to deal with.
But still. I'm proud of him. I'm proud of his grit and determination. And I'm proud to be his daughter.
Sunday, September 23
Braggin' on my babies
Sometimes your kids do or say things that just make you want to tell the world what great kids they really are. This week, after all the trauma of the failed drivers license, M made us real proud of him.
He placed 6th out of his class of 32 (and 41st in his grade of 208 kids) in the mock matric exams. And if that wasn't great enough, on Thursday night at the school cultural awards dinner, he was awarded full colors for service to Backstage--he's been part of the backstage support crew for the last three years of high school.
Go, M!!!
Then my daughter. She and a friend were talking about 'big words' tonight and she says - "I know TWO big words!" (Big laugh from the friend). "Yep" she says. "Protagonist and antagonist." "Huh?" says the friend. "Protagonist" says my girl,"is the character in a story who goes through the most change during the story, and antagonist is the person or thing who causes the most change!"
Oh, she rocks!!! :-) We talked about this a while back and she remembered!!
*Insert proud smiling face picture here!*
He placed 6th out of his class of 32 (and 41st in his grade of 208 kids) in the mock matric exams. And if that wasn't great enough, on Thursday night at the school cultural awards dinner, he was awarded full colors for service to Backstage--he's been part of the backstage support crew for the last three years of high school.
Go, M!!!
Then my daughter. She and a friend were talking about 'big words' tonight and she says - "I know TWO big words!" (Big laugh from the friend). "Yep" she says. "Protagonist and antagonist." "Huh?" says the friend. "Protagonist" says my girl,"is the character in a story who goes through the most change during the story, and antagonist is the person or thing who causes the most change!"
Oh, she rocks!!! :-) We talked about this a while back and she remembered!!
*Insert proud smiling face picture here!*
Wednesday, September 19
Next Year
Today something weird happened. I was talking to M on the way to the test center about me and my thoughts and dreams and hopes and plans for next year, to try and take his mind off the upcoming test. I don't know if he was too interested but it kept us occupied for the half hour drive.
I said: "Next year just has to be better than this year has been." And I waffled on about some of the ideas I'd had and which ones looked potentially feasible and which ones were turning out to be just a laugh a minute. Then I added,"Of course next year has one big disadvantage in the 'must be better' stakes."
"What's that?" he said.
"Well," and by now I'm feeling stupid, "well, next year is the year I turn--I turn-f--f--fi--fi..." and I simply could not bring myself to utter the word? It was as if I was blocked, muted, gagged. But he got it.
"What is so bad about being fifty?" he asked. So I tried to explain. "It means you're not a beautiful, supple twenty-something anymore. Or even a vibrant, full-of-potential, richly fertile thirty-year-old. You can't even claim to be a fabulous forty, in the prime of life!"
He's like - "Well, duh mom! Of course you're not." So I tried again.
"It's more to do with loss of hope. The brutal reality is that my chance to be a young, beautiful and desirable woman is now officially past. And that makes me feel sad."
Looking back, it often feels as if I somehow missed out on being that person in the past and that turning *this age* kind of puts the seal on the fact that I'll never ever be that person. :-( Instead, I get to be officially 'middle-aged'. Before this, I could still refer to myself as 'forty-something' and get away with it, but the Big Five Oh puts a stop to all that. End. Finito. Over and done with.
Over the hill. :-(
Actually, although I still hate, loathe and detest the idea, it doesn't cause quite the same emotionally devastating surge of rage and depression it has done for the last few years. I *know* that it's important for my psychological development that I accept and embrace this next step. And hopefully, next year with all its changes will be a part of that process. I'm actually really excited about a possible 'Me Year' and what better year for that than a landmark birthday year?
And in other not-so-wonderful news, M did not get his license. He had a fair shot at it, he passed all the yard tests like parking and three-point-turns etc, and his examiner said his actual driving was absolutely fine, but he failed him because at a traffic circle, he and another car arrived almost simultaneously and although M judged it safe to go, technically he should have waited. It's a bummer. He seems to have bounced back quicker today though, I think I'm the one who is most exhausted now, having encouraged and cajoled and supported him through the last twenty-four hours of fear and dithering. Not to mention sitting in long queues for paperwork and paying all the fees for the second time.
C'est la effing vie.
I said: "Next year just has to be better than this year has been." And I waffled on about some of the ideas I'd had and which ones looked potentially feasible and which ones were turning out to be just a laugh a minute. Then I added,"Of course next year has one big disadvantage in the 'must be better' stakes."
"What's that?" he said.
"Well," and by now I'm feeling stupid, "well, next year is the year I turn--I turn-f--f--fi--fi..." and I simply could not bring myself to utter the word? It was as if I was blocked, muted, gagged. But he got it.
"What is so bad about being fifty?" he asked. So I tried to explain. "It means you're not a beautiful, supple twenty-something anymore. Or even a vibrant, full-of-potential, richly fertile thirty-year-old. You can't even claim to be a fabulous forty, in the prime of life!"
He's like - "Well, duh mom! Of course you're not." So I tried again.
"It's more to do with loss of hope. The brutal reality is that my chance to be a young, beautiful and desirable woman is now officially past. And that makes me feel sad."
Looking back, it often feels as if I somehow missed out on being that person in the past and that turning *this age* kind of puts the seal on the fact that I'll never ever be that person. :-( Instead, I get to be officially 'middle-aged'. Before this, I could still refer to myself as 'forty-something' and get away with it, but the Big Five Oh puts a stop to all that. End. Finito. Over and done with.
Over the hill. :-(
Actually, although I still hate, loathe and detest the idea, it doesn't cause quite the same emotionally devastating surge of rage and depression it has done for the last few years. I *know* that it's important for my psychological development that I accept and embrace this next step. And hopefully, next year with all its changes will be a part of that process. I'm actually really excited about a possible 'Me Year' and what better year for that than a landmark birthday year?
And in other not-so-wonderful news, M did not get his license. He had a fair shot at it, he passed all the yard tests like parking and three-point-turns etc, and his examiner said his actual driving was absolutely fine, but he failed him because at a traffic circle, he and another car arrived almost simultaneously and although M judged it safe to go, technically he should have waited. It's a bummer. He seems to have bounced back quicker today though, I think I'm the one who is most exhausted now, having encouraged and cajoled and supported him through the last twenty-four hours of fear and dithering. Not to mention sitting in long queues for paperwork and paying all the fees for the second time.
C'est la effing vie.
Tuesday, September 18
Walking through D-Day ....
What a nightmare.
Less than ten minutes after Examiner Guy took M off, they came back, and one look at my boy's face told me that D stood for Disaster, not Driver's License.
He was devastated. The guy failed him on item one - ie reverse parking- simply because when he stopped, he didn't stop deep enough into the bay.
While M tried to pull himself together, I went to rebook him, and was told that the next available date would be in Feb 2008, and that we'd have to join the very long queue downstairs to do the paperwork, retake the eye test and pay the fee again. We decided to do it later, and left.
On the way out, we met up with M's instructor who was bringing another pupil in for her test. We told him what had happened and he said: 'Did the guy tell you where he wanted you to stop?"
"No," said M.
"He should have," said the instructor. We talked some more and as a result, back upstairs we went to talk to the Chief Examiner. And to cut a long story short, the Chief Examiner called in Examiner Guy, quizzed him, and then told us that we were in the right and the Examiner was in the wrong. He should have said to M: "Reverse in here, as far as this pole, and then stop." He didn't do that and therefore he had no right to fail M.
But as far as M was concerned, the vindication was too late. He was still emotionally shattered, felt like a completely useless failure as a driver and we'd wasted a day and the fees not getting his license. And all that the Chief Examiner could offer us was the name and fax number of somebody higher up to whom I could address a letter explaining the situation and asking for a free second test, which might be sooner if there was a cancellation or still might be in Feb next year.
By this stage, I was seething with rage and frustration, but there was nothing we could do about it. All we could do was go home, M still feeling devastated and me full of righteous anger and frustration.
Less than half an hour after we got home, the phone rang. It was Mr Chief Examiner and he said: "I can jump your son to the head of the queue - if he'd like to come in tomorrow, he can retake the test at 2pm. But you'll still have to redo the paperwork and pay the fees. What would you like to do?"
So, tomorrow we go back again, to retake the test. I'm working very hard here to help M overcome the demon of Fear that makes him want to never, ever go back there again, not tomorrow and not next February. Character-building it may be, but comfortable it is not!
Your good thoughts and prayers are appreciated!
Less than ten minutes after Examiner Guy took M off, they came back, and one look at my boy's face told me that D stood for Disaster, not Driver's License.
He was devastated. The guy failed him on item one - ie reverse parking- simply because when he stopped, he didn't stop deep enough into the bay.
While M tried to pull himself together, I went to rebook him, and was told that the next available date would be in Feb 2008, and that we'd have to join the very long queue downstairs to do the paperwork, retake the eye test and pay the fee again. We decided to do it later, and left.
On the way out, we met up with M's instructor who was bringing another pupil in for her test. We told him what had happened and he said: 'Did the guy tell you where he wanted you to stop?"
"No," said M.
"He should have," said the instructor. We talked some more and as a result, back upstairs we went to talk to the Chief Examiner. And to cut a long story short, the Chief Examiner called in Examiner Guy, quizzed him, and then told us that we were in the right and the Examiner was in the wrong. He should have said to M: "Reverse in here, as far as this pole, and then stop." He didn't do that and therefore he had no right to fail M.
But as far as M was concerned, the vindication was too late. He was still emotionally shattered, felt like a completely useless failure as a driver and we'd wasted a day and the fees not getting his license. And all that the Chief Examiner could offer us was the name and fax number of somebody higher up to whom I could address a letter explaining the situation and asking for a free second test, which might be sooner if there was a cancellation or still might be in Feb next year.
By this stage, I was seething with rage and frustration, but there was nothing we could do about it. All we could do was go home, M still feeling devastated and me full of righteous anger and frustration.
Less than half an hour after we got home, the phone rang. It was Mr Chief Examiner and he said: "I can jump your son to the head of the queue - if he'd like to come in tomorrow, he can retake the test at 2pm. But you'll still have to redo the paperwork and pay the fees. What would you like to do?"
So, tomorrow we go back again, to retake the test. I'm working very hard here to help M overcome the demon of Fear that makes him want to never, ever go back there again, not tomorrow and not next February. Character-building it may be, but comfortable it is not!
Your good thoughts and prayers are appreciated!
D- Day
I wasn't going to blog about this until after the event but ... my son takes his driver's license test at 10am this morning. I don't know who is more nervous, him or me.
The examiners at this test center are freakily perfectionistic, impossibly picky, totally demanding and will fail you - on the spot - if you roll back even 1 cm during your three-point turn. (It happened to the student who was there when we went for the practice drive last Wednesday morning - she didn't even get out on the road!)
So my boy, who is basically a good driver, is a bit anxious, to say the least. As is his mother.
More later.
The examiners at this test center are freakily perfectionistic, impossibly picky, totally demanding and will fail you - on the spot - if you roll back even 1 cm during your three-point turn. (It happened to the student who was there when we went for the practice drive last Wednesday morning - she didn't even get out on the road!)
So my boy, who is basically a good driver, is a bit anxious, to say the least. As is his mother.
More later.
Monday, July 24
Doctor Doc
Today I have a guest blogger, my beautiful daughter!
Her entry is a sad one, though. This is her memorial tribute to her beloved cat, Doc.
“My cat was one of the most annoying, self-absorbed, fussy cats that I have met on this planet. If he wanted something, nothing would deter him (especially if it was chicken!). He drove my mom up the wall with his meowing! He had a supercat power of always being exactly where your foot was about to go, causing you to step on him. When stepped on, he would give you this reproachful look, which always made you feel guilty and take the blame (well, it made me anyway).
My brother (though he loved Doc) could not help teasing him. With my love for him and firm belief that animals have feelings, I appointed myself Doc’s protector against the combined forces known as mother and brother. In return, he decided he liked my lap best and sat there whenever he could, whether I wanted him there or not- like when I was “trying” to do my homework!
This of course played havoc with my allergies, but I loved it all the same.
Being the runt of the litter, he has always had problems with his health. However, last week, he got worse. We took him to the vet and found out that “he was a very sick cat”. The vet told us that it would be very expensive to do the tests and easier on Doc to put him down.
So we said goodbye and put him down.
I had gotten used to protecting him (though my brother had mostly gotten over it and mom by this time had succumbed to his charms and loved him) and to having him on my lap, so it is hard to accept that he is gone.
I’ll miss him and you can be sure that he made sure we would never forget him. His going-away present – peeing on mom’s laptop case!
I love you, Doc, and I’ll always miss you!”
Her entry is a sad one, though. This is her memorial tribute to her beloved cat, Doc.
“My cat was one of the most annoying, self-absorbed, fussy cats that I have met on this planet. If he wanted something, nothing would deter him (especially if it was chicken!). He drove my mom up the wall with his meowing! He had a supercat power of always being exactly where your foot was about to go, causing you to step on him. When stepped on, he would give you this reproachful look, which always made you feel guilty and take the blame (well, it made me anyway).
My brother (though he loved Doc) could not help teasing him. With my love for him and firm belief that animals have feelings, I appointed myself Doc’s protector against the combined forces known as mother and brother. In return, he decided he liked my lap best and sat there whenever he could, whether I wanted him there or not- like when I was “trying” to do my homework!
This of course played havoc with my allergies, but I loved it all the same.
Being the runt of the litter, he has always had problems with his health. However, last week, he got worse. We took him to the vet and found out that “he was a very sick cat”. The vet told us that it would be very expensive to do the tests and easier on Doc to put him down.
So we said goodbye and put him down.
I had gotten used to protecting him (though my brother had mostly gotten over it and mom by this time had succumbed to his charms and loved him) and to having him on my lap, so it is hard to accept that he is gone.
I’ll miss him and you can be sure that he made sure we would never forget him. His going-away present – peeing on mom’s laptop case!
I love you, Doc, and I’ll always miss you!”
Sunday, July 23
Ten good reasons to emigrate
Yesterday I met with Dave, the guy who runs the agency handling my proposed emigration to the US. Before my one-on-one meet with him, he had a general info session for prospective emigrants and he revisited all the reasons one might have for deciding to emigrate. These, he reminded us, are what you hang on to when the process gets tough.
I am so glad he did that. I’d lost sight of a lot of them, of all those things that first persuaded me to start this process.
Education:
He referred mainly to the school his own kids (11 and 17) attend in Irvine, CA, which is an upmarket area. Kids get an astounding education compared to here. In school, a lot of work is project-based, meaning own research and submission of paper / model / etc. His kids come home, log onto the school website, find the homework the teacher has posted for them, complete it and return it via the net. It is assumed that everyone has high-speed internet at home …Travel opportunities for all disciplines – study Spanish and you could find yourself on a trip to Spain. Travel with the school choir to festivals nationwide. The drama dept has a fully-equipped theatre, not just a school hall shared with sports activities. Backstage crew has a room full of power tools and equipment to build sets, etc. Community sport facilities are in abundance and are well-maintained - tax payers money being put to good use!
Work:
Who you are doesn’t limit what work you can do. Grannies serve you at McDonalds, for e.g. White women clean houses. Nothing is considered a demeaning job if it earns you a good wage. Jobs are not given on the basis of your age, race, sex or similar. Kids work summer jobs and earn good money – minimum wage is $7.00 ph. Babysitters get between $7 – 10.00 ph and more after midnight.
Security: This is a BIGGIE for South Africans!!
The houses have no fences, no security doors, no burglar bars, no alarm systems.
Post gets dropped in unlocked mailboxes, both delivery and to go.
Parcel deliveries are left on your doorstep if there is no one home and they don’t get stolen.
Kids can walk all over the neighborhood in safety and with freedom. (Here, I used to escort my child just to go next door, make sure she was safely inside with the gate locked before I’d go!)
Cars get left on the street, unlocked and no one worries ..
Houses get left unlocked, and no one worries …
If you are a pedestrian, the motorists stop instantly if you step into the road …
All this I know to be true, btw, from my last two visits to the US. Even in NY, when people cross the road, the traffic waits.
Cars:
A big fancy car which costs around R250 000.00 here sells for maybe $25 000.00 there – monthly repayments are around $500.00 max.
Salaries:
Most nurses earn around $30.00 average, not including benefits and overtime. Nurses are well-paid compared with the general population and live good lifestyles. Obviously, if you work in Podunk, Arkansas, you won’t earn as well, but then your cost of living is going to be much lower!
All in all, I was reminded of a million good reasons why I want to do this.
In our meeting thereafter, he told me that the INS processing time, which used to be around a year, is now down to 2 - 3 months. The paperwork for the VisaScreen credentialing goes forward simultaneously, taking also 2 – 3 months. Then, with the INS paperwork and the VisaScreen certificate in place, you request a green card interview with the US Consulate in Johannesburg. This can take 3 - 6 months to get done, depends on them. An estimated min of 6 months, max of 9 months once the paperwork is done. Yikes!!!
Hospitals are not taking on new RNs so far in advance anymore, like FRHG did. So what he is doing is sending out resumes once you are 4 - 5 months from the completion of the process, so that by the time you have your green card, you also have a good job offer with a good relocation allowance etc.
If I elect to go with the present flow, meaning we'd be there within the next 6 - 9 months, his agency will sponsor me and carry initial costs, recouping these from the sponsoring hospital later on. If I wait and go at say the end of next year, I have the option of temporarily halting the process, but that could lead to a longer wait as there is a strong possibility that with all the new emigration stuff and amnesties and whatnot, if those Bills are passed, the INS is going to be snowed under and things could get looooong and drawn out again. Or, I could elect to fund it myself, go ahead now and then make the actual move when we are ready to do so - you get six months from the time you get your green card to make the actual move.
I pitched to him the possibility of finding a position in LTC - long-term care as opposed to acute care hospitals - as I do have a lot more recent experience in this field and it is one I am comfortable working in. A good idea and viable, as this is also an area where staff are needed. I needed to revamp my resume and send it to him – he can then market me closer to D-Day.
Lots of decisions to be made … and I need to move on this soon.
I am so glad he did that. I’d lost sight of a lot of them, of all those things that first persuaded me to start this process.
Education:
He referred mainly to the school his own kids (11 and 17) attend in Irvine, CA, which is an upmarket area. Kids get an astounding education compared to here. In school, a lot of work is project-based, meaning own research and submission of paper / model / etc. His kids come home, log onto the school website, find the homework the teacher has posted for them, complete it and return it via the net. It is assumed that everyone has high-speed internet at home …Travel opportunities for all disciplines – study Spanish and you could find yourself on a trip to Spain. Travel with the school choir to festivals nationwide. The drama dept has a fully-equipped theatre, not just a school hall shared with sports activities. Backstage crew has a room full of power tools and equipment to build sets, etc. Community sport facilities are in abundance and are well-maintained - tax payers money being put to good use!
Work:
Who you are doesn’t limit what work you can do. Grannies serve you at McDonalds, for e.g. White women clean houses. Nothing is considered a demeaning job if it earns you a good wage. Jobs are not given on the basis of your age, race, sex or similar. Kids work summer jobs and earn good money – minimum wage is $7.00 ph. Babysitters get between $7 – 10.00 ph and more after midnight.
Security: This is a BIGGIE for South Africans!!
The houses have no fences, no security doors, no burglar bars, no alarm systems.
Post gets dropped in unlocked mailboxes, both delivery and to go.
Parcel deliveries are left on your doorstep if there is no one home and they don’t get stolen.
Kids can walk all over the neighborhood in safety and with freedom. (Here, I used to escort my child just to go next door, make sure she was safely inside with the gate locked before I’d go!)
Cars get left on the street, unlocked and no one worries ..
Houses get left unlocked, and no one worries …
If you are a pedestrian, the motorists stop instantly if you step into the road …
All this I know to be true, btw, from my last two visits to the US. Even in NY, when people cross the road, the traffic waits.
Cars:
A big fancy car which costs around R250 000.00 here sells for maybe $25 000.00 there – monthly repayments are around $500.00 max.
Salaries:
Most nurses earn around $30.00 average, not including benefits and overtime. Nurses are well-paid compared with the general population and live good lifestyles. Obviously, if you work in Podunk, Arkansas, you won’t earn as well, but then your cost of living is going to be much lower!
All in all, I was reminded of a million good reasons why I want to do this.
In our meeting thereafter, he told me that the INS processing time, which used to be around a year, is now down to 2 - 3 months. The paperwork for the VisaScreen credentialing goes forward simultaneously, taking also 2 – 3 months. Then, with the INS paperwork and the VisaScreen certificate in place, you request a green card interview with the US Consulate in Johannesburg. This can take 3 - 6 months to get done, depends on them. An estimated min of 6 months, max of 9 months once the paperwork is done. Yikes!!!
Hospitals are not taking on new RNs so far in advance anymore, like FRHG did. So what he is doing is sending out resumes once you are 4 - 5 months from the completion of the process, so that by the time you have your green card, you also have a good job offer with a good relocation allowance etc.
If I elect to go with the present flow, meaning we'd be there within the next 6 - 9 months, his agency will sponsor me and carry initial costs, recouping these from the sponsoring hospital later on. If I wait and go at say the end of next year, I have the option of temporarily halting the process, but that could lead to a longer wait as there is a strong possibility that with all the new emigration stuff and amnesties and whatnot, if those Bills are passed, the INS is going to be snowed under and things could get looooong and drawn out again. Or, I could elect to fund it myself, go ahead now and then make the actual move when we are ready to do so - you get six months from the time you get your green card to make the actual move.
I pitched to him the possibility of finding a position in LTC - long-term care as opposed to acute care hospitals - as I do have a lot more recent experience in this field and it is one I am comfortable working in. A good idea and viable, as this is also an area where staff are needed. I needed to revamp my resume and send it to him – he can then market me closer to D-Day.
Lots of decisions to be made … and I need to move on this soon.
Thursday, July 13
Happy Birthday to Me!
A week late, maybe, but today I gave myself a present that will (hopefully) be around for a long time. At the ripe old age of … pick a number … I was fitted with orthodontic braces. The bottom row is normal metallic-looking, but the top row includes what they call clear braces, the almost-not-there kind of braces. They’re going to be on for at least 16 months.
A dear friend who is my age had her bottom teeth done about a year ago. Her husband, who is a couple of years younger than both of us, wanted to know why we were bothering with teeth straightening. He didn’t actually come out and say ‘… at your age’, but you could kind of hear it echoing there anyway. She told him it’s because we can’t afford to go for facelifts. He looked blank. I guess it’s a girl thing ….
I asked the orthodontist how old his oldest patient ever was and he said: ‘A man in his eighties.’ Next oldest, he added, was a retired professor in his sixties. I quickly changed the subject before he could go on to say ‘…and then there’s you.’
My mouth feels truly weird, all tight and constrained and odd. 16 months of this? I can’t even chew yet – soup for lunch, soup for supper – even the bit of bread I made all soggy and squashed up felt impossible to eat.
Dear God, maybe I’ll end up skinny after all! Skinny with glasses and braces? Hurrah, I’ve always felt like I missed out on being a real teenager, maybe I’m getting a chance to relive those years after all. So, bring on the hot boys! But come to think of it, these braces probably mean death to any dreams of romance for this single. Who’d want to kiss a forty-something with a mouth full of metal?
What was I thinking?!?!
Happy birthday to me!
A dear friend who is my age had her bottom teeth done about a year ago. Her husband, who is a couple of years younger than both of us, wanted to know why we were bothering with teeth straightening. He didn’t actually come out and say ‘… at your age’, but you could kind of hear it echoing there anyway. She told him it’s because we can’t afford to go for facelifts. He looked blank. I guess it’s a girl thing ….
I asked the orthodontist how old his oldest patient ever was and he said: ‘A man in his eighties.’ Next oldest, he added, was a retired professor in his sixties. I quickly changed the subject before he could go on to say ‘…and then there’s you.’
My mouth feels truly weird, all tight and constrained and odd. 16 months of this? I can’t even chew yet – soup for lunch, soup for supper – even the bit of bread I made all soggy and squashed up felt impossible to eat.
Dear God, maybe I’ll end up skinny after all! Skinny with glasses and braces? Hurrah, I’ve always felt like I missed out on being a real teenager, maybe I’m getting a chance to relive those years after all. So, bring on the hot boys! But come to think of it, these braces probably mean death to any dreams of romance for this single. Who’d want to kiss a forty-something with a mouth full of metal?
What was I thinking?!?!
Happy birthday to me!
Thursday, March 23
Caitlin
My sister's niece Caitlin (12) was involved in a near-drowning last Saturday morning. Read the story here. Prayers from around the world are being offered up for her and her family. For those of who joining with us in prayer support, here is a picture of the little girl you are praying for - taken about a year ago.
Caitlin is still comatose and on life support, but her physical condition is stabilizing. We continue to trust God for her emotional, mental and spiritual healing.
Thanks to all for love, support and prayers.
Elleann
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