Valuable lessons from 2011

Lesson 5: Even When It's Dark, There Is Light


I've saved the biggest lesson of 2011 for last.  It ties in - sort of - with all the previous ones (except for the cockroaches - it has nothing to do with cockroaches), and even now it's an ongoing lesson, with some of the issues still in the process of being resolved.  They have been incredibly hard lessons, and I've cried bitter, bitter tears, but I've seen amazing blessing as a result.

It started in January.  I'm not going to go into what happened.  I will just say that it was probably the single most painful thing I have ever had to deal with, even surpassing the agony of the divorce I went through in 1999.  It meant severe and immediate changes in everything.  In order to deal with the situation, we had to step down immediately from the leadership position we held in the church; sessions were held with various professionals, and eventually counselling was received.  The result has been restoration and increased closeness as a family.  The sweetest of all has been a greater degree of openness and accountability, which wasn't there before.

We took Catherine to start at Rhodes University, Grahamstown, in February (while still slap-bang in the middle of all this turmoil).  After four months of battling severely, she realised that the course wasn't for her, nor was studying so far from home.  She came back for good to Strand in June.  So many flustered "Oh Lord, what now??" prayers went up at that time, but it only became apparent later in the year when she joined our church's gap year program, Ground Force, that she was never meant to teach high school English.  All her giftings, her passions, her interests are geared towards her being a Grade R/Grade 0 teacher (preschool).  She's been working in a creche in our local township, Nomzamo, having the time of her life.  The other young folks on the course who went definitely did not feel it was something they would do outside of Ground Force, but they went every week as part of their program.  However, Catherine always came back energised and bubbling over at the kids and what she'd learned from them as much as they'd learned from her.  She would never have realised this had she stayed at Rhodes. Many other things still have to be worked out - work, finances, further studies, etc, but I have faith for all of these.

And that's the beauty of this year.  It's been a tough year.  Many of the things that have happened to us have not just had physical and emotional consequences but financial implications - very major ones - which have definitely put us on the backfoot for 2012.  But in many, many ways we are going into 2012 far richer than we could have ever hoped.

I have three children, each with different challenges to meet this year (jobhunting, driving tests, further education, matric exams, learning with ADHD and a nystagmus) but all with a wonderful attitude, and a strong sense of who they are in God.

I have a wonderful family - immediate and extended - who are behind me. I'm hugely grateful for the stronger relationship forged with my sister this year, and an understanding of each other that was never there before.  I'm grateful for my spiritual family, for members who encourage me, and those who are not afraid to give me a proverbial kick up the rear when I'm acting in error.

I'm thankful for an amazing husband who, though he sweats the small stuff and drives us crazy sometimes, in a crisis he is a gifted, sensitive, caring leader, rock solid and one that you can definitely lean on.  I'm grateful for his dependability, his faithfulness, his enduring love and his gentle but firm leadership.  I could not have coped with this year without him.

My awesome family

And I'm grateful most of all to my Heavenly Father, for having my paths clearly marked, for knowing the end from the beginning, for sticking with me through the dark, sleepless nights, for His still, small words of comfort, encouragement or admonishment, for His supernatural provision.

I face 2012 with a small measure of trepidation.  I would lie if I said I didn't. But I leave 2011 with a grateful heart for good, solid lessons.  I would be foolish not to learn from them, and be thankful for them.

Do I want to live through 2011 again?  Not on your life!  Am I glad it happened like it did? You bet!

Happy New Year to all of you.  May 2012 bring you all you wish for, but most of all, my wish is for you to receive God's gift of eternal life, freely offered to you.  May you know His peace, love and forgiveness as you start this New Year.

Valuable lessons from 2011

Lesson 4: Everything Has a Reason and a Season


Most of us have seen (copiously!) the email that 'people come into our lives for a reason, for a season, or for a lifetime.' (Please don't send it to me again if I've misquoted it - really, I got the message when I read it the first 20 times).

But the fun part for me this year has been working out the reasons as I go through different seasons. And the reasons have been surprising.

The lessons haven't always been easy.  I've dealt with some people in this year, who, easygoing as I am, have really managed to push all my buttons.  I will not mention who, or where, or what the circumstances, but they just seem to have that uncanny knack of causing me grief, wittingly and unwittingly. Eventually, after much contemplation (too much, actually) and a night of praying, I felt (rather than heard) a voice say "Every pearl needs some irritation in order to be made perfect."  It may not have been what I wanted to hear, but it made a lot of sense.  My reaction now is to reach out to those people, and learn to love them, however difficult it is.

I often think back to things that happen in the past and try to understand their reason.  I had a really terrible job a couple of years back, from which I walked away after 7 weeks, after realising that my new boss's sole aim was to belittle me to the point of brokenness.  However, in that office, I had one person that I got on really well with.  I have often wondered why I had to go through those 7 weeks of hell - till this year that same office ally employed both my teens (without interviewing them first!) to work in her holiday business.  It may not be the only reason for me going through the pain that I did, but when I see my son come in after 6 hours of work, tired but happy, with stories of the weird and wonderful people who were walking along the beach, it finally seems worth it.

Two seasons came to an abrupt and violent end this year. Colonel Muammar Gaddafi was shot dead on 20th October by Libyan rebel forces. He had been in control of Libya for 42 years, and during his reign, had sanctioned the bombing of an American airliner, thus enabling the bombing of Pan Am Flight 103 on 21st December, causing debris to rain from the sky on a small, unsuspecting Scottish market town.

In Pakistan, on 1st May, Osama Bin Laden was assassinated by a crack American force.  He was the leader of Al Qaeda, who claimed responsibility for all the aircraft that flew into buildings on 11th September, 2001, destroying the World Trade Centre, severely damaging the Pentagon and forever changing the security levels in airports.

Why did atrocities such as "The Lockerbie Disaster" and "9/11" happen? Because evil men plotted it. Pure and simple.  But where sin abounded, grace did much more abound.  In New York, people turned to God in a way unparallelled in previous years.  In New York, as in Lockerbie 13 years before, people came together in a defiant sense of community.  In New York, as in Lockerbie, firemen, policemen and paramedics, who risked danger of further building collapse or fires to save others, were the people's heroes instead of shallow, self-seeking sports stars, musicians and actors.

21st December 1988, the longest night in Lockerbie's history

Lockerbie, last week, said goodbye to the man who'd been its leading fireman at the time of the air disaster. His final struggle had been against his own body, and it had been a long, hard-fought three-year battle. Ronnie Robertson was my best friend's dad, his brother Brian had been my driving instructor.  I knew Ronnie as the most humble, jovial, self-sacrificing man in the town.  On the night of 21st December, he worked through the night (along with all the other firemen from Lockerbie), came home at 4 am, showered, put on his postman's uniform, did his postal round, came home and changed and went back to rescue work.  He did that until there was nothing left for the fire service to do.  He was one of my heroes.

The epitome of true heroism

In New York, children realised that Spiderman, Superman or Batman didn't have a patch on their firefighting fathers, brothers, uncles, who risked (and in some tragic cases gave) everything to save as many people as they could, or the real life heroes in the skies over Pennsylvania on United Flight 93 who made a stand and stopped a destructive mission.

Inspector George Stobbs, QPM

No, God didn't "make it happen" or even "let it happen", but He knew that man's evil choices would lead to these moments, and he had the very people in place that would thwart the full force of evil and restore immediately faith in humanity.  There's not one person I know from Lockerbie who isn't proud of its people and what they achieved when they stood together.  Unsung heroes who spent hours and hours with relatives from America - Inspector George Stobbs gave up days to be with all kinds of investigation bureaus and with relatives, and Alex Traill who after taking relatives to where their loved ones were found, to the memorial, allowing them to grieve and then offering a kind word of comfort, would take them home for a three course meal.  These are the people and plans God had in place, ready and waiting.  As the World Trade Centre is being rebuilt, it's a symbol of a spirit of community.  Evil happened, and a tiny town, and a massive metropolis, were ushered into new seasons.

John F Kennedy once said, "Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country." You may be in a difficult season.  You may not think you have any reason to be here.  I can tell you, you have no idea what plans God has for you.  It may be a timely word to someone, which makes them change their mind, or it may be to become a part-time paramedic to save someone's life.  I can't say.  But always look for life's lessons, even in the hardest of times realise that there is a reason for it, and always look for heroes in the unlikeliest of people.  Lockerbie and New York will tell you that there are literally hundreds, and you wouldn't be able to spot them.  They never will claim to be heroes - they will always  be "just doing their job".  Those are people worth knowing.

Valuable lessons from 2011

Lesson 3: Cockroaches Are Straight From the Pit of Hell


End of story.

Why should I shudder alone????

Valuable lessons from 2011

Lesson 2: You Can't Put a Price On Freedom


"They may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!"  These words were ascribed to William Wallace by Randy Wallace in the blockbuster "Braveheart".  Whether Scotland's hero ever said them is incredibly dubious at best, but the sentiment is completely understandable.

Mel Gibson as William Wallace, proclaiming freedom for all Scots from Edward Longshanks' tyrannical reign

Freedom is a truly precious commodity. But it's one of those strange ones you don't appreciate until it's not there any more.

I had this in a small measure this year.  My car was out of action for a month this year, after its engine seized.  It doesn't sound so serious, but over the years, this car has become a symbol of my independence.  It's the only car I've ever owned.  I love the feeling of just being able to nip out quickly and do something, or go somewhere, or meet with someone.  So all of a sudden, to be completely housebound and totally reliant on other people was incredibly difficult for me.  When friends had the same problem I did later in the year, I loaned them my car, as I understood their loss of independence, but after 7 weeks, I honestly felt imprisoned at home, imprisoned at work.  Not necessarily because I didn't want to be there, but when I needed to do something, I was stuck.  I realised then there is no singular price that can be placed on independence or freedom.  Scooting all over the place in my car this past week, frenetic as it was, I began to cherish completely the moments this car has given me while driving.  The special, full-volumed, intense conversations with Tony on the way home from school, fun and deep conversations with Andrew, lively conversations about music and careers with Catherine, and tender, private conversations with Colin.  And even the quiet beauty of solitude - my times in prayer as I drive somewhere in silence. Or singing full volume to a CD or a song on the radio.  These are precious moments, and when for any reason I can't have them, I miss them desperately.  Tony is too distracted by all around him in the house to have the same intense chats as we share on the way home.  It's impossible to have any kind of meaningful conversation with Catherine or Andrew while Tony is interrupting every 30 seconds, and as for private, intimate chats with Colin in the house - with three kids around?  Forget it!  If my vehicle is the vehicle for such timeless moments, I will always fight to preserve that freedom. And like every freedom we have, it took my car to die a death on the side of the road for me to appreciate it.

And it's this love of freedom that makes the passing of the protection of state information bill so painful.  We have been so blessed since 1994 to live in such a democratic country, where freedom is prized. The second-last line of our national anthem is "Let us live and strive for freedom".  So a big red flag goes up when the government tries to restrict the freedom of journalists who happen to find out that members of parliament are involved in illicit dealings. Or if consumer watchdog Carte Blanche tries to get to the bottom of an issue that is "not quite kosher" at the highest level, only to find themselves falling foul of the law, and our government gets away with criminal activities.  It's my experience that those who restrict freedom of information the most, generally have the most to hide.  But again, South Africa did not appreciate this level of freedom at all until it came under threat.

​"Press freedom will never be under threat as long as the ANC is the majority party" Nelson Mandela 

On the other hand, the story goes that when North Korean president Kim Jong-II died recently, some North Koreans got their first taste of Western music, and apparently some wept while listening to Adele for the first time.  When you have no freedom at all, even the slightest freedom is deeply moving.

We have a lot to be thankful for.

Valuable lessons from 2011

We're less than 4 weeks away from the end of the year and I suppose I'd better get some final thoughts down onto cyber-paper before the tolling of the bells starts a whole new era.

For some people, 2011 has been amazing - new beginnings, much excitement, happy memories.  For others, this  is a year that can't finish quick enough.  I'm afraid I tend to fall into the second category.  I would not want to repeat the events of 2011 for all the money in the world.  But nor would I swap the lessons that these events have taught me for any price.  And over the next few weeks, let me share with cyberspace some of the treasured lessons I've learned.

Lesson 1: It Ain't Over Till It's Over


This is the story of Rascal and Tazzy.  They are almost exactly the same age. The big difference between them is one is a much-loved pet, and the other a car.

Rascal was born on or around 10th May 1998.  He was bought on Father's Day in a little pet shop outside the Hypermarket in Brackenfell. Within 60 seconds, as Catherine watched this little handful of fluff attacking my fingers, she declared that he really was a "rascal", and the name just stuck.  He's a cairn terrier cross (nowadays I say he's a cairn terrier VERY cross) which means that in his early days he was absolutely tireless.  He could run for miles, and we were convinced he'd dig to Australia.

My canine baby

However, when he turned 10, he really started getting "old".  He really started slowing down, you could see that his hearing and eyesight weren't great any more, and in general, he just wasn't the playful terrier he'd always been, chasing soccer balls around the backyard, growling all the way, chasing the cats out of the house, even though they both snuggled up to him every night.  Almost every year, as I look at him,  in his forgetfulness, in his quiet "let me sleep" state, I wonder if that Christmas will be the last we'll spend with him.  Yet, he seems to keep hanging on, and there are moments of great lucidity and "puppiness", especially when I make Italian food!

My other "never say die" story is Tazzy.  Tazzy is my 1998 model Toyota Tazz.  When I got the car, it had 29 km on the clock.  It's already been all the way around the clock once, and I think it's quite far on its way to a second time.  But I absolutely love it.  I love its zippiness, I love its "can do" attitude, its ease to drive and its comfort. It's very, very rarely given me any grief at all - just had some starter motor issue which was quickly remedied by installing a relay switch.  So it was a huge shock earlier this year when the engine simply seized one winter's day.  However, this is Tazzy, and though it was in a "coma" for three weeks (no engine block, no life in it at all), on the fourth week it was back in action.  Four weeks after that, it undertook the longest trip of its life and drove all the way to the Eastern Cape, new engine and all!

Tazzy in Bathurst, Eastern Cape

If I'm being honest, Tazzy's running as well now as it ever did in 1999/2000.  There are many years of service still under the bonnet, many kilometres to cover, two teens to learn to drive in it (both of them could have their licence by Easter, that's the scary thing!) and many more memories to be created in it.  When I think back to the test drive in the Tazz as opposed to the test drive I did in the Fiat Uno, which I was also considering, I did not realise that I was not only buying a vehicle, but a couple of decades of memories, and from Tazzy, a lifetime of faithful service.

So the lesson is simply this.  It doesn't matter who's telling you you can't do it. It doesn't matter who's telling you you're old and past it.  It doesn't matter who's given up hope for you.  While you are still breathing, you have a purpose.  Hang on!  Keep trying!  Never stop enjoying life.  Try new things - learn piano, start writing, join a zumba class, take up playing trombone, dye your hair a funky colour, or shave it all off.  Make memories, and think back often to the ones you've already made.  Do things to keep your mind sharp, and never, ever think you're too old for new adventures.  Remember - new and young doesn't necessarily prove that it will be the better choice. The Bible is full of stories of people who achieved great things in their old age.  Noah built the ark when he was over 500 years old.  Abraham became a father at 100.  Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt at the age of 80, and died only 40 years later.  So if 2011 taught me anything, it's the words of a Lenny Kravitz song - "it ain't over till it's over." And if you're reading this, it ain't over yet!!!

Oh, and Rascal wants me to add that the secret to youth is lasagna.  Just saying.

High Velocity Speed Wobbles

Many of you may have read about my little Ginger Ninja, Anthony, in my previous blog post.  Those of you who know him will know that he is a loud and lively seven-year-old bundle of energy.  I'm going to begin this post by saying that despite the fact he gives me a new grey hair every day, I am so intensely proud of him and all he achieves.  Sure, he takes a little longer over some things because he takes time to physically focus.  He might never be able to play golf, or even cricket or tennis, but I love how he's taken to school life like a duck to water.  I love the fact that this tiny little lad in glasses has made chess "cool" among the Grade 1s, and has a whole troop of them following him to the library every Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon.  I love the fact that he floored the Grade 1 teacher by singing along with her to "Thunderstruck" (heavy metal voice and all!) after he was first finished his work in computer class.  I love that everyone in the school, Grade 1 to Grade 7, Headmaster to Janitor, knows exactly who he is.  I love that he volunteered to pray in front of the school.  I love that he has no problem sharing his faith with his friends, and finds it weird when they say they don't go to kids' church or Sunday school.

Grade 1 is awesome!

In the first term, he absolutely, absolutely hated reading.  Homework took ages, because he really, really battled to learn words, phonics, letter groupings and everything that goes with it.  He "crooked" his way through the earliest readers, because he would literally memorise whole books, and use the pictures as his memory joggers!  His maths skills were great and his computer skills have always been top notch, but English, reading, etc was really bad.  It was at that point that I got the report of the nystagmus.  

I could go into a whole soliloquy here about how his teacher, Dale Bougas, has really not just gone the extra mile for Anthony but the extra 10 miles to accommodate him and his eye defect.  As a result, although his writing is still atrocious, he's just received the top grade in his class for reading.  His word recognition is superb, and he loves the fact that he can read his Doctor Who book by himself (I'm grateful for that, to be honest!!)  In terms of his educational development, this year has been major for him.  He's getting great grades for all his subjects.  

However, there's one area that we all still battle with.  He's not called the Ginger Ninja for nothing - he literally is here, there and everywhere.  And like Duracell (the one with the copper coloured top), he lasts 6 times longer than the average child.  From birth (and that's no exaggeration) he's literally survived on a few hours' sleep per night.  In the class, he's the one with the most to say, he verbalises everything, and often gets distracted.

We took him to the paediatrician yesterday, and the occupational therapist, learning support and Mrs Bougas had sent through supporting documents.  In addition, Dr Dyssell asked us a number of questions.  At the end of his investigation, he said that Anthony fulfils absolutely every single criteria completely of a child with ADHD.  The upswing of all of this is that this weekend, Anthony starts on a Ritalin trial.

How do I feel about this?  I know Ritalin has had a lot of negative press, but for every one story I've heard somewhere from someone about "zombie kids", I have met 5 or 6 real flesh and blood people who say that their lives changed as soon as they started on it, and they were at last able to sit for longer than a few minutes and concentrate.  Anthony's occupational therapist's sister only went onto Ritalin in her twenties, and asked her sister in tears after a few months "Why did nobody do this for me sooner?"  

Like every drug, as the doctor pointed out, there are always people who will be sensitive to it.  I can totally relate.  I hated when the GP used to prescribe me Sudafed for a cold, because I knew I would not sleep a wink while I was on it, and would end up in a depression.  It was only earlier this year I discovered that I have a great sensitivity to pseudoephidrine, one of the main ingredients - some possible side-effects are insomnia and depression!  Now I know to avoid it.  Is it a bad drug?  Absolutely not!  I know many, many people who will immediately go and get Sudafed from the chemist at the first sign of a cold, and two days later, they are so much better.  I just know that I can't.  And the same with Ritalin.  For some people, they will have an adverse reaction, and there are other medicines out there that can help in the same way. So, no, I'm not worried on that score, and Dr Dyssell has said that if we are worried about anything at all, we must stop the Ritalin immediately and call him.

In terms of the ADHD diagnosis, that's also more of a relief for me than anything.  I don't know if that's the right way for me to feel, but when you seem to spend literally your entire life saying words, like "No", "Don't", "Stop it", "Listen", "Calm down", when you never had to use them more than occasionally for your other children, you start to wonder if you've lost your touch as a parent.  I really was beginning to think that discipline was not going to work with him.  Now that I know what is going on, I can work out better ways to work with him, deal with him and teach him.  I know it's just a small hurdle - both Catherine and Andrew have good friends who were/are on Ritalin, and are absolutely stunning young people who are welcome in my house any time.  I'm naming no names, in case he reads this, but my nickname for one of them is "Selati" because he's that sweet!  (For non SA-viewers, Selati is a brand of sugar.)

Am I concerned?  I'm a mom, of course I am.  Do I think this is the right thing?  In honesty, I've never been more at peace.  I honestly think that if Anthony did so well this year (ADHD, nystagmus and all), once he gets to Grade 2 - watch this space!!!!!

Book status!

At the risk of being boring, I'm going to be boring.  Today's entry is ENTIRELY what the name of my blog would imply - a blog about books!

I have a weird system of reading books and magazines.  Many have tried to understand it, all have failed, mainly because the system is very fluid and I change it as it goes along.  However, here is a breakdown of what's on my bedside table right now.

Just started reading: "Battle of the April Storm" by Larry Forrester.  I don't know his work, I don't know what to expect at all from this book.  It's the first of the four titles in a Reader's Digest condensed books collection.

Still busy with: "The Complete Works of William Wordsworth".  Yep, heavy.  Not just the weight of the book either!  Not a poetry buff at all, but this has sat on my bookshelf taunting me for years.  What I DO get about him is that he had a superb appreciation for the beauty that is the Lake District.

"I Know You're Hurting" by Lauren Stratford.  Oh wow - loving this!!!!!  It's already full of post-it flags of really encouraging passages I want to keep and share.  If anyone has a copy of "Satan's Underground" they'd like to lend me, I'd love to read it!  Wow, this woman has a powerful testimony!!!

"Sirens" by Eric von Lustbader.  If it didn't have such a great murder mystery storyline, I'd have put it aside weeks ago.  This isn't just the seedier side of Hollywood, this is the sick, depraved side of Hollywood.  Not just sex, drugs and rock and roll, but real licentiousness. I must admit, my stomach has been turned quite a few times, and I've skipped a few paragraphs, but I really need to know "whodunnit"!

Fiuished: "The Whip" by Catherine Cookson.  Maybe I knew I was specifically going to enjoy it because my mother was such an avid fan of Catherine Cookson. Reading this book, I understood why.

The story follows the life of a young girl, born into a circus family, orphaned at the age of seven, and sent back to live with her grandmother, entering a life of servitude.  I could explain the whole story, but it would just spoil it - I can't even begin to do it justice.  I think appearing in a Reader's Digest condensed novel did it far less justice than it deserved. I will say that it is full of twists, turns, heart-stopping moments.  The characters are so believable - nobody is so sickly-sweet and intrinsically good that they have almost superhuman qualities.  In fact, this book focuses on the fight of the flesh against the soul.  It also shows what the height of jealousy capacitates a person to do.

Thorougly enjoyed it; however, I would recommend reading the full version - it will be far more worth it.

Other than that, "The Message" and my NIV bible, along with my notebook and journal, and lots of post-it flags, adorn my bedside table.  I would tell you I lead a boring life, but I think a life without books would bore me far more than a life where I visit different worlds and eras almost every week.

Till the next update, happy reading!

Don't They Know It's the End of the World?

So we've had a lot of discussions and a lot of laughs in our office this week, after World Radio put a billboard up not more than 400-500 m from our building. One of our number wanted to know if the world would end before or after the rugby on the 21st. Another wanted to know if she should cancel her girls' night out with her friend. I just wanted it to happen early so that I didn't have to go grocery shopping - it's the bane of my life!

So what this thought-provoking and amusing billboard said was "Judgment Day: 21st May 2011" and in a little bubble to the side it said "The Bible guarantees it!", then in small letters the World Radio website, AM frequency, and the time of the broadcast - 18h00 - 21h00. Apparently, according to one Harold Camping, a pastor in America, it's all going to kick off with a worldwide earthquake, and the Rapture will take place. The world will cease to exist on 21st October 2011.





Before you go off and start buying a lifetime supply of baked beans and corned beef, here's some good news. I'm typing this at 5.24 pm. Still 35 minutes to go till 6 pm. BUT if you're reading this in Auckland, Sydney, Fiji, Tokyo, Beijing - guess what??? It's already the 22nd!!!! Good morning, and welcome to a world that has not ended yet!

BUT this did get me thinking. If you knew for sure that the world WAS going to end today, what would you do? Is there something you know you have been doing wrong that you want to make amends for? Is there a family member you need to apologise to for something that happened long ago? Someone you've been meaning to call, but haven't got around to doing it? Then I'm going to say to you - you are not guaranteed tomorrow. The Rapture may or may not happen tonight. You may have a car accident when you go out later, or you may live for another 70 years. We are never guaranteed any time but now. If you have unfinished business, and amends to make, make them now.

In terms of Harold Camping's predictions, I can safely say he's wrong to pin a date on it, and most likely we'll see the sun rise on another day tomorrow. What Jesus himself said was, "But concerning that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only" (Matthew 24:36). Jesus doesn't know, the angels don't know, and some number-crunching preacher in California certainly doesn't know for sure.

Harold Camping - false prophet?

That's the thing.  Don't be deceived.  Judgment Day is coming.  It really is.  Not even scientists or conservationists would disagree with me on this one.  The way we exploit natural resources, the dictatorships we see in parts of the world, the rampant holy wars and hatred among nations, the great poverty in some countries, global warming and the melting of the ice caps - all of us, deep in our hearts, know it can't go on like this forever.  Will it happen in my lifetime?  That's not my call - that's God's call.  All I know is that He's said we need to be ready, because we don't know the hour.  Again I ask, if Judgment Day were to happen tonight, where would you find yourself?  Would you be looking upward looking for the break in the clouds and listening for that trumpet? Or would you be filled with horror and dread at the thought of what is to come?  God is very clear that it WILL take place, but He's also made it clear that if we repent and turn to Him, any talk of the Rapture will not be a cause for consternation, but a source of celebration. We'll have a new address, and it won't be on this earth.  We'll be taken where there's no pain, no death, no sadness, endless peace and joy.

I leave you with this final thought.  You might be reading this and thinking I'm a religious nut, a total Jesus freak.  It's cool if you do - I've been called worse.  You may argue there is no God, and it's your right to do so.  So what if you're right?  It means that you carry on as you normally do, and hopefully my life is lived out in such a way that it makes the world a better place for the people whose path I cross. Hopefully, I manage to pour out some love and kindness on people, and bring smiles maybe where there were tears, living a good, law-abiding, hopeful, peaceful life.  When you die, that's it. When I die, hopefully some people will say some nice things about me, and remember me fondly.

Now, just think about it - what if I'm right?  On your judgment day, whenever that will be, what will you say? For some of you it's already 22nd May - "Judgment Day 2011" has passed.  But you haven't escaped.  God's just given you another chance. Don't leave it too late.

Mothers' Day x 365

My hero, my role model, my mum

Agnes Knox, Nancy Knox, Nan Lindsay.  Most of you reading this won't have a clue to whom I'm referring.  But there is the select few who read this who won't read "Agnes", "Nancy" or "Nan" - they'll read "Mum", "Granny", or some of you even "Aunty Nan". Born 12th June 1936, Mum had a childhood through wartime.  She was a remarkable lady in unremarkable circumstances.  Married at age 19, she held fast to her vow "till death do us part", bore four children (though suffering a miscarriage between the third and the fourth), raised three very, very different daughters, and one quiet and loving son, who knew how to bring out the best - and the worst - in all his sisters. 

Being the youngest of the four, by a fairly large number of years, I was the last child left in the home, after everyone else had married and moved away.  Mum just took everything in her stride - all the weddings, still having a child in school, the arrival of grandchildren.  She held down a job, she worked herself to the bone, then came home and did it all again there.  Of course I had chores, and of course Dad helped with cooking, and could drive a vacuum cleaner like you wouldn't believe, but nobody could do the laundry or ironing, or just generally keep the house going like Mum.

The news in 1992 that she had had a cancerous lump removed from her breast and was undergoing radiation therapy came as a huge shock.  But at every check-up thereafter she was given good reports, and Mum went back to doing what she loved to do - looking after other people.  There was always someone she "took care of" and she had a special heart for elderly and infirm people.  First it was Nanna, then Kate Hastie, then Annie.  So it was a massive, massive blow to us all when in December 1997 she was rushed to hospital, and died soon after admittance.  Though the death certificate stated she died of "pulmonary thrombosis", the autopsy revealed cancer had completely overtaken her body, and the doctors reckoned that, had the blood clot not killed her, the cancer certainly would have within the month.  She was 61, wife for 41 years, mother of four, grandmother of 6 (at that stage).

While thinking of her today, I just realised that, though I loved my mum desperately and there was nothing, literally nothing I couldn't tell her, I realised how little I really did to show her my appreciation, far less verbalise it.  If I could live my life over, that is probably one of the biggest things I would change - this lady who sacrificed so much for all of us - I would take so much off her shoulders in terms of household responsibility.  I would tell her that she is an amazing woman.   I would let her know that she truly is my hero.  She wouldn't be coming home from work and making her own tea, especially not if I've been home for an hour before her.  I would do more together with her.  Learn more about her childhood.  Learn more about - and from - her.  And I would really encourage her to pamper herself, take time out, take a break.  Sometimes moms are their own worst enemies.

And here's the thing; my mum's not the exception - she's more like the rule.  Moms just get on and do it and the more into motherhood I'm going, the more I see it.  There's a lady in our church right now - three children under five, studying AND keeping a household going.  I saw another lady arrange a massive women's event for over 400 women, while looking after two small children and being heavily pregnant with a third.  Yet another raising two adopted teenage daughters, working a full day in the city and sometimes not knowing where the next meal is coming from, yet never ever closing her heart to anyone in need - always the first there with a pot of soup, offer of a lift, or whatever's needed.

Yes, there are mothers who are genuinely bad, who will go all out to harm their family, but they really are not common.  Most mothers would lay down their lives for their children - and frequently do, figuratively if not literally.

So, if you are reading this, and you are blessed to have your mom still with you, do yourself a favour and take action.  I don't care how old you are or how old your mom is.  Make her a cup of tea, give her a night off cooking AND dishes, run her a bubble bath, take her out for a meal, go visit her, help her out with chores around the house, take her shopping, bring her a big bunch of flowers, give her a hug and a kiss, give her a call right now... but most of all, don't forget to tell her what an amazing superwoman she is, and how much you appreciate all she does and ever has done for you.  You will never say "I love you" louder than you do when you affirm her in the most important role God ever gave her - being your mother. 

Mother's day shouldn't be one arbitrary Sunday somewhere in the middle of the year.  She is worth way, way more than that.  Don't ever miss the chance to appreciate her as often as you can right through the year.

And they all lived happily ever after....

All right, I admit it!  I'm a royalist! I love all things royal, I bunked college on the Friday when Prince Charles visited Lockerbie, I waved at the Queen when she came to visit the memorial site in Lockerbie, when our Catherine was still a baby, and I said "Good morning!" to Princess Anne as she stepped off the royal train in Glasgow Central (we just happened to have got off the 8.15 Scotrail from Lockerbie) That really made my mum's day, as she loved the royals more than I do! So it's no surprise that today I made sure all remote controls were firmly in my grasp as Catherine Elizabeth Middleton walked down the aisle of Westminster Abbey with her father, Michael, and  walked back down on the arm of her new husband, Prince William of Wales.

Why was it so special?  For me, it's just that Kate is so ORDINARY! I don't mean that in a nasty sense - I mean that she is as down-to-earth as they come. Her father was an airline pilot, her mother a stewardess.  They run a party planning business. They're the average family next door. Okay, they probably aren't struggling to make ends meet, but they're by no means aristocracy. They work for their money. But in being working parents, they've raised three poised, well-mannered, well-educated and - let's face it - stunningly beautiful children.  Kate was just another undergraduate among hundreds at St Andrews when she caught Will's eye, and that's the whole charm of this story. It's every little girl's dream to be a princess one day. For Kate, or Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge as she's now titled, it's a dream come true.

The day
In our house, it was a good old English day. Rain outside, but inside, tea, scones, cream and jam.  I was joined by my dear friend Lady Petronella Dinky-Boom (come on, you've ALL seen the current Facebook game and even if you won't admit it, you've all worked out your name!), and we settled down to oooh, aaaah, and laugh hysterically at the weird fashions! In London, the mood looked festive and literally a sea of red, white and blue. The weather looked overcast but not raining.

The dresses
The little flower girls looked stunning in their ivory dresses with puffy sleeves and flower halos, but the star of the wedding party (next to the bride, of course) was the bridesmaid. Pippa Middleton looked drop-dead gorgeous in the simple, straight-cut, cowl-neck white dress she wore. I'm sure she's going to be on plenty more society party invites after today, and NOT just because of her famous in-laws! Kate's mother was dressed simply and elegantly in a soft grey which really suited her.  Camilla's outfit suited her well.  The Queen's was brighter than the sunshine, but another winner for me was the absolute understated elegance of the Prime Minister's wife, Samantha Cameron, in her stunning emerald green dress.

Simple and stylish

Elegant in Emerald

Fashion Funnies
Of course, there are always those that make you ask "What were you thinking?" I know this is where fashionistas will come after me with machetes, but what the heck. Victoria Beckham's dress was actually very pretty but that hat - slap bang in the middle of her forehead - made her look like a try-out for a new style Dr Who alien. Add to that the long ponytail and you have a cross between Star Wars and Stewardess Barbie. I spotted a sky blue crescent moon hat, also perched on front of the head. Another black hat had a saucer-like creation that sat on the one side of the head, and a huge black rose on the other, like the wearer had said "Hat...flower...hat...flower..oh what the heck, let's have both!" But the winner, hands down, has to go to young Beatrice York for a creation that looked like she'd come to Africa, caught some kind of buck and got someone to mount the horns on the hat for the big day!

The Force was strong with this one....

Were Kalahari animals harmed in the making of this hat?

The Bride
Every bride I know wants to look their very best on their wedding day, and they always use styles that flatter them. Kate was no exception. Everything was simple and understated. The make up was natural, the dress in a simple elegant style, the train long enough to be a train, but not so ostentatious that you needed a whole team of bridesmaids to handle it. She looked completely relaxed and poised walking up the aisle, and even her dashing groom, resplendent in the scarlet dress uniform of the Irish Guards, was blown away by her beauty.

The Wedding
This was not the usual long-winded royal occasion. They got straight to the vows after the first hymn; then a short sermon, second hymn, reading, third hymn, prayers (and LOTS of prayers for children - "heir and a spare" is traditional, Kate, just so you know...) and signing the register. And then the long walk down the aisle to the door. There is just something so incredibly emotional about any newlyweds emerging from a church. Probably the only part of the day where I almost lost it.Then the open-top carriage ride back to Buckingham Palace (imagine, girls, that the first thing you had to do after getting married was to go back to your mother-in-law's house....)

The Balcony Scene
It was the moment all of us in the house had been waiting for. Even Colin. Though in honesty, Colin wasn't worried at all about the obligatory kiss (of which us lucky commoners were treated to not one, but TWO!) - he was much more excited about the Lancaster, Hurricane and Spitfire flypast!

Did Colin cry at this point, maybe?

Final thoughts
As I watched today, I just got such a sense of the purity of it all, and everything seemed to accentuate it - the decor in the abbey, the flowers, the bridesmaid's dress, the bride's dress, even the kiss on the balcony. Then it dawned on me. The name "Catherine" means "pure" (you'd think I'd have got that right from the start, with my daughter having the same name...).  It certainly was prominent today.

I loved it. Brits just get pomp and ceremony. And yes, we moan about the taxpayers' money. And yes, we moan about all the hype. But face it - all us girls love a good love story, and we love weddings. I do wish them well. I wish them joy, long life and happiness together. True love won out today; this wasn't just Cinderella marrying her handsome prince - this was a 29 year old man and woman declaring before witnesses that they had found the one with whom they wanted to spend the rest of their lives. It's not a "for show" marriage. You only need to take one look at them to see they're best friends, first and foremost. They are a young couple who have solemnized their deep love for each other before God. Whatever the future of the British monarchy, I am an ardent supporter of matrimony and I want to echo one line of the ceremony - what God has joined together let no man (albeit another party, family interference, public scrutiny, or media frenzy) put asunder.

Say it with me, folks .... and they all lived happily ever after 

Dealing With a Speed Wobble

When Anthony, my youngest child and duracell bunny of note, was born, he looked, to all intents and purposes, 100% perfect.  His hearing test was superb, his reflexes were sharp, he certainly had no problems with his lungs, and all systems seemed to be functioning perfectly normally. Oh sure, he decided from day one that this breastfeeding thing is for the birds, and flat out refused, no matter what I tried (and trust me, I tried everything!) and then there was the issue of sleep, which he decided almost from the get-go was for sissies (I wonder who he gets that from .....).  But he was growing beautifully, passing all his milestones - in general doing just fine.

I returned to work, and I found a nursery school, where he would happily go for the next 6 1/2 years of his life.  But we started to notice something about his eyes.  They tracked from side to side, very quickly, and the more tired he was, the worse it got.  His daymother also noticed it and noticed that he didn't follow objects as well as other babies his age.  He was fine with the big colourful rattles, but smaller things, he didn't seem to follow.  She worried that Anthony was blind.  We made an appointment to see an eye specialist in the town, and she told us that he has a condition known as "nystagmus".  It is a condition in which nerve endings in the muscles of the eyes have died or not developed, resulting in an instability or involuntary movement of the eyes.  She gave us the prognosis that most people with a nystagmus learn their own coping mechanisms and will each "deal with it" in their own way.  She told us there and then that he may not read a book "square on" like his peers, but he'd find a comfortable way to read it.  I put this very comforting information in the back of my head.

What nystagmus looks like

Shortly after, I met a lady with a pronounced nystagmus.  She said that it had not held her back in any way at all.  That was what I needed to hear at that time.

And I really haven't given it too much thought since then.  Anthony completed preschool, and at the beginning of this year, started primary school.  And that's when the fun began ....

His teacher called me in within a week, and said that she had him right at the front, but that he still seemed to be battling to see, and that he would almost lie with his head on his work, and that in some tasks the class did, he needed almost double the time to complete it.  She requested that we revisit the ophthalmic surgeon.  Just before I did, something in my head said "What if it's not the vision? What if this is the nystagmus?"  The opthalmic surgeon said that his eyes are still the same strength they were.  Yes, he's far-sighted - exactly the same condition (and almost the same strength) that I have, but his eyes have not deteriorated at all.  He confirmed exactly what I'd been thinking.  He suggested I see a specialist who works in eye exercises.

So I did that this morning.  She did a couple of quick tests and said four words that would begin to change the way we view everything - "Yup, it's the nystagmus..."  She did a whole load of other tests, glasses on, glasses off, one lens covered, different positions in the room, different card charts, reading close up, reading far away.

And then she dropped the bombshell. "There is no exercise I can give you, there is nothing that can be done, there's no surgery that can correct this.  Your son is visually impaired. My advice would be to keep him in mainstream school for as long as you can, but my worry is that, certainly at high school level, he will battle to read textbooks.  You may need to research into alternative schools, or homeschooling as options".

I watch this little bundle of energy running around.  I watch him try to defeat the White Witch in Narnia on the PC.  I watch him cycling.  I see him on the stage every Sunday morning, giving all the musos a hard time.  I listen to him discussing Star Wars with my teenage son's youth leader.  I giggle inwardly, as I am introduced to yet another parent that he doesn't actually know either, but with whom he's struck up a conversation just before my arrival.  I sense his heart of generosity as he so desperately wants classmates to come around so "I can show them my stuff, and we can play".  And I can't reconcile this.  My child is not handicapped. And yet he is.

But as I said to someone today, I think sometimes God puts extra character, energy and stubbornness in certain people.  God knows the challenges that lie ahead of them.  I think I understand now why Anthony can go on so much less sleep than anyone else, and be fine.  How he can outstubborn even the most stubborn of people.  He will have to work twice as hard for twice as long to be just as good as everyone else.  I don't think there are many other kids that could handle this the way that Anthony will.  There's a level of gritty determination in him that is awe-inspiring. 

And when I see this, I know he's going to be all right.  One day, he's going to meet another lady whose baby has just been diagnosed with the same condition, and he's going to put her mind at ease, by saying, "Don't worry - my mom felt just like you, and look at me - I turned out just fine."

Some tips I found helpful in research:

Information for Parents of School Children with NystagmusThese guidelines should be used discreetly and with acknowledgment that each pupil is an individual whose sight will vary.
1. Encourage the student to explain his/her visual needs; however, continual and undue attention to these should be avoided.
2. Allow books/objects to be held close to the eyes, the head tilted and any other body posture adopted if this enhances vision.
3. Provide the pupil with his own book/worksheet. Sharing is impossible.
4. Enlarging material will often help, although good contrast may suffice.
5. Wall displays for reference should be placed at eye level and where the pupil can stand close to it (not above a filing cabinet or table for example).
6. Ask the pupil where he/she would prefer to sit. It is often facing and near to the board, they should not sit to one side. He/she should be offered positions close to demonstrations during activities.
7. Store visual aids so that the student has easy access and can use them when he/she judges that they will be helpful.
8. Allow the use of prescribed tinted glasses, cap, hat, or eyeshade to reduce the effects of glare.
9. Read aloud when writing on the board; describe diagrams.
10. Allow sufficient time to complete tasks and to examine materials/objects.
11. Good (though not necessarily bright) lighting is essential. The light should be behind the student and directed onto the object being viewed. Matte surfaces for walls, boards, and paper prevent light reflection and glare.
12. Use strong color contrast between letters/figures/lines and background. These should be well spaced.
13. To keep track of where the pupil is up to when reading, a piece of dark card may be used or he/she can track with a finger. Exercise books with matte paper, different colors, and line spacing should be made available.
14. In ball games, it may be difficult for the student to follow a fast moving ball if they have poor vision or strabismus (misaligned eyes). Congenital nystagmus alone might limit effectiveness in the outfield. 

(From the American Nystagmus Network, www.nystagmus.org)

It's the time of the month when I pay all my accounts, all my creditors.  Typical Scot that I am, this leaves me grumpy at the best of times, but although I'm Scottish and reluctant to part with my money, I'm also British, and bound by the sense of fair play - I used the account, I must settle.  My kids use the service, I must pay the fees.  That's just how it goes.  So much as it goads me to press the "pay account" button, it's not exactly what I call a "pet peeve", just a necessary evil.

No, what IS a pet peeve is the "friendly reminder" calls I get from certain stores close to or just after the 25th, reminding me that my account is due.  That in itself isn't too big an issue, as sometimes us middle-aged people have reasonably slippery memories.

So if it's not the paying, if it's not being reminded, what is it???  It's the sheer unprofessionalism of the call centre agents.  They go against every single ounce of etiquette, telephone training and even marketing training that I ever had in my life, and I promise you, nothing raises my hackles quicker.  So in the hope that somehow somewhere someone who works in a call centre, or who manages one, reads this simple rant, here's a call centre 101 for your wonderful staff, who I know are just doing a job, but are doing it badly, thanks to poor knowledge.

Lesson 1: When I answer the phone, never, ever, ever respond with "How are you?" unless you happen to be a friend of mine, and you know for a fact I will recognise your voice.

This sets the tone for the rest of the call for me.  Start with that, and my response is generally, "I'm fine, WHO  are you?????"  We learned this in marketing training, and it rings true with any PR type job that involves lots of phone calls - if you haven't introduced yourself, you have not earned the right for anyone to tell you anything about themselves, including how they are feeling on a particular day!  It might sound polite in your ears, but in ours we all know for a fact is that you do not know us from a bar of soap and are thus not particularly interested in our wellbeing.  I saw this in action the one day, when someone phoned me to sell me insurance and started off with "how are you?"  As I was in fact really not well that day, and on the point of going home from work, I said "Feeling grotty, full of the flu".  She replied with "I'm fine too, thanks for asking".  I'm not even joking.

Lesson 2: Speak slowly and clearly, especially if you have a strong accent.

No, this is not to do with my hearing getting a bit duller with the early onset of old age, but with 11 official languages in our country, and English speakers in the minority, it's understandable that non-English speakers will be employed at call centres.  No problem with that, but seriously, managers, invest in some communication and elocution lessons.  If you hear that your call centre staff are having to repeat every single sentence they say, every single call, you have a problem.  This is not a slant on people with accents other than English South African - for goodness' sake, I'm broad Scots!  I know all about having a strong accent, and when I first arrived here, nobody could understand me at all - I had to repeat myself several times over!  I learned the only way to communicate was to slow down, and speak clearly.  Annunciate, annunciate, annunciate.

Lesson 3: "No" is "no"

This one's specifically for marketers.  I know the hectic heavy sales training will tell you to handle objections, and "change that no to a yes!" but if someone has said "I'm sorry - I'm really not interested", to carry on and push the issue is only going to make the "no" even more definite. Classic example I can give you of this is a marketing call my erstwhile "trailer mate" (my office colleague) received recently.  When she said she wasn't interested, the lady on the other end said "But why not?  What is your problem?"  I guarantee, my colleague did not change her mind, once her motives were questioned!!

Some of the best calls I've ever been involved with would start "Good day, you're speaking to Janey from XYZ marketing.  Can I please just take two minutes of your time?"  (You've introduced yourself, you've put the customer in control, and you've appreciated that their time is important)

Or another example "Good day, am I speaking to .....?  I'm calling from XYZ shop about your account that's due.  Is now convenient for you to talk?  Yes?  Then I'd just like to mention that this call is being recorded for training purposes .... etc, etc". (You've confirmed the client, you've said who you are, you've stated your business, and you've again appreciated that their time is valuable. As soon as you've got them, you're back into your "spiel")

But I've kept the crowning glory for last, because it's not even a person.  Often a marketing company, or the debt collections department dial you on a "smart" system that, once you answer, gives you an automated voice message which says "Please stay on the line for this very important call"  and repeats ad nauseum.  I only ever did that the first time, only to be told that my account was due in two days - how would I be paying?  Three minutes for that????  What that system says is "Our call is important, but your time isn't".  

So, please, call centre managers - I know your guys are just doing a job, but you could make their working conditions so much better by giving them training on how to handle the public, telephone ettiquette, and vocal training, and, while there will always be the prickly customers, you will eradicate a lot of the small, niggly things that make us all roll our eyes when we see "Private number calling" on our phone screens.

Just a thought ....

Starter For Ten

Remember "University Challenge"?  Where two universities took each other on in a general knowledge clash of the boffins?  The best part was their names:

"Nigel Ponsonby-Holroyd, reading Chemistry"

"Jemima Puddleton-Smith, reading Law"

"Rupert Hoddleton-Jones, reading Modern Languages".

Mine would simply be "Pearl Gaitskill, reading."  That's all! 

As long as I remember, I've loved reading.  My mother was the one who invoked my love of reading from a very early age.  She read to me over and over and over again, pointing out the words, until by the age of four, I could read small, simple books for myself.  Dad also would read to me, always bible stories.  They were wonderful moments.  From Dad, I gained my love of scripture, but Mum was the one that told me stories which fired my imagination, made me dream, took me to faraway places.

Learning to read was by far the best skill I ever learned.  In those difficult teenage years, when everyone feels awkward, but a slightly podgy, short, geeky girl with glasses even more so, books were my solace, and my escape hatch.  The longer the book, the better.  It was during that time that I developed a love for historical novels, and especially those of Nigel Tranter.  I also grew to love the works of Charles Dickens. 

When my children were born, some of the greatest memories I have are of reading them bedtime stories.  I read the first Harry Potter book to them, and as I think of that, I see Andrew with wide eyes, hanging on my every word.  It's no surprise that both Catherine and Andrew still love a good story, just in different media - Catherine is as avid a reader as I am, while Andrew is a movie boffin.  Anthony, at six years old, refuses to sleep till he's heard a story.

So it makes me truly proud that Cath now takes the next step in her life, going to Rhodes University to study English.  Why?  So that one day she can inspire not one, but hundreds of children to love literature as much as she does, as much as her mother does, and as much as her grandmother did.

It's all in the genes!