October thoughts

Life seems to move faster, as one gets older. Too fast for me to document it. Why do I feel the need to document it? I have no idea. I just do. And what if no-one ever reads it? That's okay. This is the more public side of my writing. My private writing sustains me. It's a personal thing. Writing is how I make my way through life. I recently had an idea about doing something with some of my writing, but I'll reveal that plan at a later stage.  

It's the first weekend after the first week of the fourth school term. The break was short - just 12 days - but much-needed and, to a certain extent, restorative. I managed to go out for lunch with different friends, as well as with my sister and a few cousins. In Cape Town, when it comes to restaurants that suit different pockets and palates, we are really spoilt for choice.

Muizenberg Beach, with construction: view from The Happy Rooster Restaurant

                                                         The nursery at Quince Restaurant

Early in the holiday, I drove 186km to the small town of McGregor, where I sang at the delightful Tebaldi's Restaurant. This was my second time singing there, the first having been in the March school holidays. I stayed overnight at The Bean Tree accommodation, which was - once again - super comfy and a lovely treat. 

                                     My very comfy room at The Bean Tree, in McGregor

The next day, I had breakfast with my friend who lives in the town, after which she drove me around the non-touristy area. I may as well have been back in apartheid-era South Africa. Sometimes it's hard to see what's actually changed. 

Like most of South Africa, but less visibly so in the middle class residential areas of a metropolis like Cape Town, there's a huge and distinct gap between the haves and the have-nots. The local school attended by the "people of colour" goes only as far as Grade 8. Any child wanting to complete high school has to travel 35km to the next town, Robertson. For most families, that's unaffordable. It broke my heart. I don't understand why, in the 32 years of democracy, with all the expertise around, this situation hasn't been remedied. The children I teach, aged roughly 13- 18, regularly talk about their rights, like the empowered, post-apartheid teens we hoped they'd be, but those teens in McGregor may as well be living on a different planet. The moneyed residents in the town send their children to the local, well-resourced Waldorf school.   

As someone who spent the first 32 years of my life oppressed by the apartheid government, I have a strong sensitivity to injustice, which filters everything I experience, wherever I go. 

It seems to me that there's a certain level of convenience in having a ready supply of desperate, uneducated people living a few roads away. Why isn't the South African government doing more to address these disparities? Yes, they definitely exist within the metropolis, as well, but they seem a lot more pronounced in the far-flung rural towns. Almost like our country's dirty little secret. Those towns need progressive leadership who will steadily introduce changes that promote the empowerment of the poor and the integration of the residents, so that it's ONE town, and not two. Imagine if every resident had access to the benefits of the tourist trade in the town - as entrepreneurs and small business owners, and not just as waiters. I'm sure many visitors would be interested in seeing not just white South Africans and European expats running things in small towns. I worked with foreigners in the TEFL industry for ten years, and I know what I'm talking about. If you read about the population diversity in our country, you choose to come here to experience it, but all you see are white people, many from your side of the world - surely that's a disappointing experience?      

Anyhow..... I am, and always will be, an idealist. I think that there are many gaps waiting to be filled, opportunities waiting to be taken up, projects waiting to be started, throughout our country, to move it in the right direction. 

I was also taken on a walk through the Silent Garden, on the premises of the Temenos Retreat. I'll write about that in a separate post. 

           Some growth in the attempted Fairy Garden, at home. Not a fairy in sight yet. 

During the holidays, I had to have my car's thermostat replaced. It was outside of my budget, but fortunately I could allocate some of my McGregor gig fee to it. I was immensely grateful that the overheating hadn't happened on the long road. That would've been an entirely different experience. 

I also managed to achieve a long-procrastinated task, this holiday - dropping off  Mom's sheet music at the home of one of her dearest friends who's still actively singing. It freed up space in my mind and in my little home. And it made Mom's friend happy.  

On the last day of my holiday, I had the opportunity to perform live music again. This time, it was with one of my long-term duo partners, Keith Tabisher. We played a few songs at a WCED event - the tenth annual Life Orientation Teachers' Awards. Keith and I had not played together in at least a year - possibly two? -  so it was lovely!!   There's something about this time of the year, our spring season, that lends itself to live music. I can't wait to do a whole lot more.  

I'm trying to introduce small things into my daily life that make me feel less alienated from my essential self.  When you work in a highly bureaucratic and structured field, you spend a lot of time adhering to rules, or being reminded that doing X or Y makes you non-compliant. In my essence, I'm creative, colourful, spontaneous, outspoken, chatty, curious, and interested in spotting problems and working towards solving them, for the benefit of everyone. But schools are highly competitive spaces. I am not competitive at all. So I find myself feeling like a square peg in a round hole a lot of the time. I've written about this over the years, so it's not a school-specific phenomenon - it's a societal one. I'm wired differently to the way our society operates. Systemically, people are encouraged to succeed at all costs, with a very narrow definition of success. Sadly, schools, as perfect little government minions, endorse and perpetuate this. It's evident across many aspects of teaching, and I find it rather uninspiring and even depressing.   

For now, though, my focus has to remain on my job commitments. Our matric students are no longer on the campus, so I teach 6 classes instead of 8. Phew! We teach for another 3 weeks, then we have local government elections which interrupt one school week, after which we're into our final exams. And then, my least favourite school task: marking! Personally, I think our education system is too assessment-heavy, but I am a very small cog in a very big system of wheels,  and my views will not make any difference. One day, when someone dynamic, with the right academic credentials, becomes head of education in our country, and says the same thing, maybe then it will all change. For now, we all just tick those required boxes, and hopefully inspire some of the kids we teach.   

As I get ready to tackle my weekend To-Do lists, I'm powerfully aware that I have a lot for which to be grateful. I'm in good health, I have a loving and supportive circle of family and friends, I have a job that enables me to afford life, a roof over my head that meets my needs, and a car that affords me the independence I cherish so much. More than that, I can still enjoy things like playing my guitar and singing, crafting, writing, reading, and walking. In the three years I've been in my current job, I've made a few new friendships that are solid and grounding. And that is a whole lot more than many people my age in South Africa have. Thank you, Universe. 

                      About to leave my accommodation in McGregor. Fascinating mirror.

In closing, I am immensely proud that a South African woman, who has fought injustice throughout her life, has just been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for 2026. Congratulations, Ms Navi Pillay!   

Third last day of the school holiday

It's the third last day of our school holiday, and I'm starting to feel a little sad. Completely normal. It's a grey, overcast day - beautiful in its own way. Some of our best lessons come from nature. Maybe the lesson is that, whether it's school time or holiday time, there's always beauty to be found. 

Looking back on this three-week break, I feel a sense of peace, because I was true to myself. I enjoyed a lot of solo time, I socialised more than usual, I did housework, and I even tackled some of my school tasks. Earlier this week, I went to school, where a colleague and I did a few hours of planning. 

The enjoyable social things were going to the theatre with my daughter (Sondheim's 'A Little Night Music'), walking with my son and his dog, spending time with an ex-colleague from 30 years ago, going yarn shopping with my two wool-nerd friends, and having one-on-one lunches with a few good friends. A few days ago, I went out for lunch with my sister and two cousins. It was a first, as we normally see each other at bigger family gatherings, and it was really nice. We chatted for hours. Children of three sisters (now deceased), and having been in each other's lives fairly consistently, we had a lot to talk - and laugh - about. 

On the creative side, I've been knitting children's beanies (for our school project), playing my guitar and singing, and trying a few recipes. I've also done a lot of journalling, which is one of my favourite pastimes.   

I've been doing a lot of thinking about my job, and about jobs in general. I had been unemployed for three months when I was told about this teaching post, and encouraged to apply. I'll be honest - it had not been on my agenda to return to teaching at a high school. My previous job, which I'd absolutely loved, had been a part-time job, teaching matric English to adults. However, we suffered unfair treatment by top management, were not paid for six months, and the entire programme (VERY valuable in our country!) was shut down. (NB: Three years later, we've not been paid yet!) 

So, while returning to full-time teaching in the high school sector had not been Plan A, neither was remaining unemployed. I'd been unable to meet my commitments for a few months, and my debt was increasing. What I needed most was financial stability, to sort out my life. Almost three years later, I'm totally immersed in full-time teaching, with all its highs and lows. I've spent some time journalling through the pros and cons of the job, which has helped me gain a healthy perspective on things.

Two other job-related thoughts: Firstly, I don't know when last I've met anyone who's told me she loves her job. My conclusion is that most people don't love - or even like - their jobs. That's sad.  And secondly, I've realised that you should never take a big, job-related risk based on someone else's having done so. Especially when you don't know much about their new reality. Also, everyone's different. Maybe Person A leaves a job and starts a new business, but person B might want less responsibility, and be okay with sorting books in a library, a few days a week. Maybe Person C exits her job with a healthy pension saved up, but Person D might have absolutely nothing.

The topic of people working beyond retirement age, out of necessity, has been popping up in different spaces, and it seems to be a global issue. Life is constantly becoming more expensive, and even those who saved diligently find themselves struggling. I don't know much about government old age pension in other countries, but it's really small in ours: a monthly amount of R2,400 per person.  (You're allowed to work, but may not earn more than about R9,000.) As bleak as this figure sounds, things have changed. Under apartheid, in the 1980s, a white person's pension was about TEN TIMES that of a black person. By the mid-1990s, the Social Security Act of 1992 had brought about pension equality for all senior citizens. As far as I understand, there were similar changes in other areas, like disability grants.  So to those people who say things were better under apartheid, you were clearly on the privileged side of things.  

I'm tired of writing. I slept late, had a leisurely breakfast (I love lazy, tasty breakfasts at home), and it's about midday. I have a few things I want to achieve, so I should start now. 

Today is Nelson Mandela International Day - the anniversary of Nelson Mandela's birthday.  Annually, South Africans, as well as people all over the world, are encouraged to do something, for 67 minutes, to benefit someone else. I'm not joining any gatherings today, as I'm in full, unapologetic hermit mode, so my intention is to crochet a small teddy bear, for which I'll find a recipient. 

     2024, two halves of a crocheted teddy bear, before the assembly. (Pink knitting, a separate item.)

The Lesson of the Magic Ball

One week into our three-week school holiday, and I'm in a good space. Even though it's winter, today is a beautiful sunny day. It's still quite crisp, but nevertheless lovely. I've done a lot of unwinding on my own, spent time with some friends, and started tackling items on my To-Do lists. 

It occurred to me recently, after seeing Facebook posts about Northern Hemisphere schools being on their three-month break, that our longest school holiday was only one month long, making this mid-year break just one week shorter. Also, it's really strange that our school year starts when it does, in mid-January, because we experience our hottest weather then, continuing well into February. What's really crazy is that all our school athletics activities take place in that January-February period. 

Anyway, I'm on holiday and in full-on relax mode. Yes, I have household chores to do (spreading them out over the first two weeks) and quite a bit of schoolwork (doing this over the three weeks, for my sanity), but I'm prioritising things that I actually enjoy doing, including sleeping as late as possible. 

Our school's Stitch Club is doing a winter warmers project, making caps, scarves and mittens for children in need. We've extended the invitation to the broader school community, and look forward to having a nice yield of knitted and crocheted items to hand over to places where children are cared for. On Tuesday 7 July, we're gathering in our school hall to knit and crochet as a collective, and enjoy a cup of tea or coffee and some snacks. I think it's going to be really cool. 

With this as a goal, I've been doing quite a bit of knitting, and have completed five caps for little people. I've also crocheted two, but the sizes are a bit strange, so I'm not sure if they qualify. :-) 

As I continue to learn more about myself, I find it helpful to tune in to what everyday life can teach me. I've realised that, instead of owning and embracing what makes me who I am, I've spent a large part of my life either ignoring my preferences, making excuses for them, or feeling the need to hide them, because someone in my close circle has expressed a dislike or disdain for them.  

Sometimes what I've learnt has surprised me. One of those things is that I love splashes of bright colour. Anyone who sees me regularly knows that I wear fairly boring clothes, usually in solid, background-type colours. I avoid patterns and any kind of attention-grabbing styles. Actually, that couldn't be further from who I am! Currently, though, the most adventurous I am, with my wardrobe, is in the scarves I wear. This needs to change. 

What I've now fully embraced in my crafting is that I prefer working on items where the colours change frequently. It keeps me interested, it eliminates boredom, and I'm always happy with the results.  With this in mind, I decided to take my existing yarn stash and create some magic balls, with which I'd make the kiddies' caps. A magic ball is basically something people make, to use up odd bits of leftover yarn: you take each leftover bit and tie it to another, in a way that is barely visible and also very durable, creating a new, multi-coloured ball. You then knit or crochet with your magic ball, creating something that is a bit of a surprise in its colour effect. 

                                     The first kiddie cap, with the first magic ball. 

I loved the result so much, that I just kept on doing the same thing. I've made five knitted ones so far, each with a unique result, and my sixth one's on the needles at the moment, with magic ball No. 2.

Because I'm somewhat philosophical (and love a good metaphor), I've decided to call this experience The Lesson of the Magic Ball. I chose the colours, I decided which pattern to use, I put the time and effort into creating the item, and what was the result, each time? A finished product that I absolutely loved, that made me happy, that I know will achieve the desired result (keeping a little child warm), and that I want to keep making. I've learnt (all over again) that when I'm true to myself, when I'm intentional, and when I use my decision-making power to do something that intuitively feels right, I succeed.   

When I return to school for Term 3, I should remember The Lesson of the Magic Ball. 😉

 

Drafted on 5 April (incl. notes to myself)

Today is Day 9 of my 11-day school holiday. This has been the strangest holiday in a long time. But let me go back a bit.

Without fail, the last few weeks of every term are the most stressful for me. For two to three weeks, my main activity is marking. I wish I could tell you all the things that make it so stressful, but I can't. It's a whole lot more than the hours and hours spent sitting and marking over 240 kids' handwritten scripts. It's everything that precedes it, that surrounds it, and it's completely out of my control. Let's just say it's partly systemic.

So, I went through a stressful few weeks, and I wondered what my body would do, once the stress was over. Because it was inevitable. There's no way you can experience that much stress, for weeks, and emerge intact. The night before the end of term, I realised I'd caught a tummy bug. A couple of colleagues had had it, as well as some kids, and now, with my weakened immune system, it was my turn. Terrible timing, because I needed to take a two-and-a-half-hour drive soon after that.       

Somehow I got through the last day of school, bought some over-the-counter meds for the next few days, packed my things for the weekend, and early the Saturday morning, I headed for the N1 freeway, where I'd arranged to meet up with a friend, and take the long road to McGregor.

The McGregor experience deserves a post of its own, but I'll squeeze in the main things here, for now. I drove behind my friend, all the way to McGregor. It was a beautiful drive, the weather was spectacular, and I was thankful that I had a reliable car, with aircon.  I actually enjoy solitude, so I found the drive peaceful and inspiring. The further I drove from Cape Town, the more I felt myself relaxing. I started to feel the old Trudy returning. 

When we got to McGregor, a quaint little inland town to which my friend had relocated two years ago, we made a quick stop at a magical shop that sold scarves and other wonderful things. Then we went to meet the person who had hired me for the restaurant gig, and I felt completely welcome and at peace. I could feel myself exhaling, and started to see why my friend liked the town so much.    

I was shown my accommodation (The Bean Tree - soooo beautiful!!), where I dropped off my overnight bags. Then I was taken to the restaurant where I was going to sing that night. It's in the town's main street (Voortrekker?), and it's called Tebaldi's. Named after the great soprano Renata Tebaldi, this opera-themed restaurant is part of the Temenos boutique resort, and is an absolute delight to the senses. 

                                          My gorgeous, super-comfy room at The Bean Tree.  

I set up my equipment, with two of the staff helping me sort out some technical issues (I ended up using the venue's speakers!), did a soundcheck, then went back to my lovely accommodation to get ready.  

When I got to the restaurant, the staff were setting up, and the place was filled with the sounds of  Renata Tebaldi, singing arias my mother had sung throughout her opera career. I had such a huge lump in my throat! My own set-up was between posters of La Traviata and La Boheme, both operas in which my mom had sung. I felt my mother's presence strongly throughout the evening. It was like when she'd go with me to my weekly restaurant gig (between 2015 and 2020), and she'd smile and say, "Nice, Trudes", after every song. So precious! 

The evening went well, with a delicious dinner, in a beautiful setting, and a warm atmosphere created by the hosts, the staff and the diners. I did mainly covers, and added a few of my originals. Interestingly, the organisers liked the originals more. (I could write many blog posts about why I think people respond better to my originals.) I think both the organisers and I would do things a little differently, in future. 

I still wish I could've done the gig in a duo, but the elements weren't favourable, this time.   

ADD MORE HERE

The next day, my tummy problems were back. I was very worried about the long drive home, but It ended up being another lovely drive, and I got home safely. 

Once home, however, it was a different story. I unpacked my car - my overnight bags and my music equipment - then gave in to my exhaustion, and lay down without unpacking my bags. I texted a few people, then fell asleep, eventually waking up at 3am. For the next few days, I was really sick. The virus knocked me out, and I managed to find enough energy only to take care of myself. I kept taking the pharmacy meds I'd bought before my trip, and modified my diet. Eventually on Thursday, almost a week into 11-day holiday, I went to the doctor. Almost R2,000 later, I'd had a consultation and bought prescription meds. 

I'LL WRITE ABOUT THE MIXED BLESSING OF BEING SICK DURING A SCHOOL HOLIDAY - I COULD SLEEP WHENEVER I WANTED TO, BUT COULDN'T TACKLE MOST OF THE WORK ON MY HOLIDAY TO-DO LISTS FOR SCHOOL AND HOME. 

AND I MISSED TASTY FOOD!!!! AND ENERGY TO DO EVERYDAY THINGS. AND WALKING IN NATURE!!

WHAT'S THE LESSON?     

Where there's life...

Almost halfway through my 60s, with some dreams achieved and many more not (yet), I find myself wondering how much longer I have on his earth, and - more worryingly - what those years will be like. I think that old people worry about three main things - health, money, and family.    

By the time your health problems start, it's generally too late to reverse them, and all you have are regrets. I should've .... I shouldn't've.... I suppose the same could be said about money problems, and, to a certain extent, family problems too. 

But there's this saying, "Where there's life, there's hope", attributed to Cicero (106 - 43 BC), that has been one of my guiding stars throughout my adult life. When my father died, in Dec 2005, I became acutely aware that he no longer had any opportunities, but that I still did. At that time, I was 44, I was working in the TEFL industry, it was three years since my divorce, and I was in a new relationship. Three months after my dad died, one of my younger cousins, Judy, died. She was the first one of my maternal cousins to die, and one of the younger lot, so it hit us hard. I had never felt the finality of death so strongly. That was 20 years ago, and the rest of the cousins (14) are still around. With Judy's death, I was once again filled with thoughts of how I could live my life to the fullest, given that there were no guarantees I'd live to see old age. 

And here I am - 64 years old, and thinking about life and death. When I was 23, I entered into a relationship with someone 15 years my senior. Eight years later, I got out. Interestingly enough - or proof of how successfully manipulated I was? - we'd split up many times, including for as long as three years.  Now that I understand life better, I understand that that relationship was doomed from the start. The important thing is that I got out. I gave myself a new beginning. I landed on my feet, and entered a new chapter. 

Less than a year later, I met someone completely different, and we got married about eighteen months later. Happy at first, had two children, but the incompatibility became clear early on. After about seven and a half years of marriage, the divorce was finalised. We'd both tried, in our own ways, but it was a lost cause. Once we'd gone through a few different therapists as a couple, I could no longer ignore how severely unhappy I was, I knew I had a very hard road ahead of me. I got divorced and requested zero alimony,  in accordance with my belief system: I don't believe a man should provide financially for his ex-wife after a divorce, if she can work. I do believe that he should co-provide for his children,  though. Most importantly, I got out. This time, the stakes were higher - I was older, and two innocent children's lives were seriously impacted. But I believed in giving myself a chance to be happy. I believed I could land on my feet. 

Two years later, I met a completely different type of man, fell hopelessly in love, and felt I'd found the person I wanted to be with forever. But no relationship is without its issues: after eight and a half years, I discovered infidelity, knew I could never forgive that level of disrespect, and we split. I felt almost ridiculous, having my heart broken at age 50, but that's life - the script for each of us is unique.  With my self-awareness at an all-time high, I got out. It hurt profoundly, but I did what was right for me.

There was a parallel in my working life - I left my first teaching post after fourteen years, and have spent the last thirty years doing different things that made sense to me. This entailed mostly teaching - in and outside of the state education system - but also a five-and-a-half-year stint in the corporate sector, working in Corporate Social Investment, as (amongst other things) a liaison person between the company and its funding beneficiaries. Every job I've had has added to my knowledge, my skill set and my world view. My frame of reference is so wide, that I get bored easily when in an environment where narrow-mindedness is the order of the day.  Because I've worked in situations where my natural problem-solving ability and other leadership skills were given the space to thrive, it drives me crazy when I have to defer to people with less life experience and no clue as to how to lead. 

So what's the point? I'm trying to remind myself that I have a solid track record of not stagnating, and of believing so strongly in myself, that I have reinvented myself a few times, and found that there's always a better, brighter chapter ahead. I just need the courage to turn the page. 

For some people, success meant staying, no matter what. For me, it's always meant not accepting what no longer feels right, and granting myself a new beginning, no matter how uncomfortable the transition feels. Yes, in many ways it is definitely more complicated the older you get. 

But complicated's not the same as impossible, is it?     

Four days from the first anniversary of my mother's death, I'm more introspective than usual. I feel like I need to stop allowing fear of the unknown to keep me from making brave choices. My mother showed me unconditional love, and was always proud of me. I need to live my life with her in mind. The one thing I should not do is give up hope.           

Where there's life, there's hope. 

                                     A budding rose in our school's garden - April 2026

Two Profiles (Written 14 Feb '26)

Background music, as I start typing this post: Clair de Lune, by Claude Debussy, one of the most beautiful pieces of music, and one I often listen to on repeat, because it's complete - it doesn't need other pieces of music for context, meaning, or identity. In a way I can't describe, it completes me.  

When I switch on my laptop, I am faced with pics of my two profiles - my personal one, which I've had for as long as I've had this laptop (about 8 years), and my school one. I purposefully don't have my school one on my phone, because it saves me from 24/7 reachability. It's too much. I've noticed an expectation from people, in different parts of my life, that I will always be reading texts and emails. I don't even have email notifications on my phone - I'll see your email when I check my emails. It's all too intrusive. You can't ever fully relax, because you might be contacted. The worst is when people video call you without prior arrangement. That call will never be answered by me - that is the ultimate intrusion on my personal time and space. I have a right to time out from others. Living alone makes this even more important. I enjoy and look forward to time away from people.  The longer I live alone, the more right it feels for me. Also, I believe that late-night calls are for close people, or for emergencies. If you're not in my close circle, unless it's urgent, call me the next day. 

On Facebook, I also have two profiles - one is my personal one, which I've had since 2009, and the other is my musician page, which I started in 2013. I spend a lot of time on my personal one (which my students tell me is an old-person's platform), but hardly go onto my muso one when I'm not musically active. Actually, I think I'll change that. Not doing gigs because my day job depletes me doesn't mean I'm no longer a musician. I still listen to and enjoy music, and occasionally play and sing on my own at home. And I enjoy seeing what other musicians are doing, especially in Cape Town. When I see my Facebook memories from a few years back, I'm shocked by how much my life has changed since re-entering full-time public-sector teaching. I honestly don't know how anyone manages to maintain hobbies (let alone relationships!) while being a full-time teacher. The little time that you're not at school, you spend doing your domestic chores, and squeezing in a bit of time to relax and recover.  

We're raised to believe that our jobs support our personal lives, but, while they earn us the resources from which to live, it's actually the other way around - the time I spend managing my personal life is so that my day job runs smoothly. I try to keep my flatlet uncluttered so that I can come home and do my schoolwork in an organised space. (I really need an extra room - just saying!) I cook for a few days at a time, on Sundays, so that I can use my evenings doing schoolwork, without having to prepare meals. A lot of what I routinely do is aimed at ensuring that I function optimally in my job. I live the way I do because of the job I have. I earn just what I need to survive. In months where I have additional expenses, like renewing my car license, I have to give up one of my other personal budget items - usually, my haircut. 

But I constantly reflect and re-evaluate my choices. Wherever possible, I come up with inexpensive ways to infuse meaning into my life. My weekly walking habit is one example. Even though I drive 24km to get to my preferred walking space (it's complicated for South African women wanting to exercise outdoors), I decided that it was worth it. I can't quantify the significance of this habit in my life. The truth is, I would love to walk 5km every day, preferably on the beach, but for now I'm doing what works for my busy life. I aim to increase the frequency, staring with a mid-week walk, but since I decided that, my school programme hasn't given me the space to start. I suspect that when it finally does, we'll have hit our colder weather (already starting). I'll simply haul out my warmer clothes and layer up. If I could start and sustain (for 16 weeks so far) a weekly walking routine, I can definitely notch it up to twice a week.

              Sea Point Promenade, on 15 March '26. I took a late afternoon walk, for a change.  

All I know is that walking makes me very, very happy, and I want to do as much of it as possible. Maybe by next spring, I'll feel like signing up for one of those public walks. I can already feel my crowd-phobic side shouting Noooooooo!! I'll see.   

Playing now on my Classical Piano playlist: When The Clouds Cleared, by Alexander Motovilov.  

Saturdays have definitely become my catch-up-with-sleep days. I listen to my body. It's a way of honouring myself. I wake up without an alarm, usually after a good, long sleep, I have a leisurely breakfast, I journal or blog, and if it feels right, I go back to bed and have my chapter two sleep. I love the pure indulgence of it - the delicious antithesis of my week days. 

On playlist: Spark, by Asti Fajriani

Remember my 2026 'motto'? It's "I show up for myself every single day, in good times and in bad." I think I'll drop the second part. "Every single day" says it all.  I love how, when I reflect on each day, I see how I've managed to show up for myself, despite the feeling that I'm living the Plan B version of my life. I'll keep doing so. Even when we do small things for ourselves, we're showing ourselves love and care, which nourish our souls and keep us going.

       Alphen Trail, on 8 March '26. There was a huge event in Sea Point, so I walked closer to home. 

Some of the ways in which I show up for myself:

* I take myself on a tranquil walk once a week.

* I start each day with lemon water.

* I eat only what I love (vegetarian since 1 Nov. 2025).

* I drink water throughout the day.

* I have set morning and evening routines.

* I avoid people who make me feel stressed.

* I journal regularly.

* I set my own standards, regardless of watered-down expectations.

* I play my guitar.

* I crochet.

* I've resumed my reading habit.  

* I watch documentaries about other countries. 

* I listen to music as much as I can. 

* I remember who I am, and that I add value wherever I am. 

* I take photos of nature in all its beauty.

* I smile. A lot. 

     

      Sea Point, on 1 March '26. I had such fun, jumping in and out of the spray from the wild waves.
   

 

Have I Lost You?

 As usual, I have a number of topics I feel like writing about. Today, however, I am compelled to write  about just one.

Yesterday, just over a month after suffering a stroke, Dr. Diana Ferrus passed away. She had been hospitalised for a while, and was moved to a rehabiltation centre for further treatment. On Facebook, I followed the regular updates by her family, and believed she was recovering well. The news of her passing, yesterday, came as an awful shock. 

I think I met Diana in about 2010. I can't remember the details, but it was at an event where we both performed - she, her poetry, and me, my music.  I loved her work. I realised that, even though reading them was a profound experience, her poems were best enjoyed by watching her live performances. I know many people who are wordsmiths, who have impressive vocabularies, and who can make the dullest subject sound interesting, but Diana's gift with words was on another level. She had the ability to use just a few words, in a few lines, to say something deeply moving and thought-provoking. 

I love the way she wrote about everyday experiences and lifted them to something special. I love the way she tapped into different human experiences, often of things foreign to us, and made them real to all of us. Her Afrikaans poem about her father's jacket, "Die Jas", comes to mind. As does her poem about how enslaved people who died on ships were just flung into the ocean: "My naam is Februarie".

I'm finding it hard to write, because I'm still dealing with the shock and sorrow of Diana no longer being around. It still feels unreal. 

Diana was a riveting storyteller, and, whether it was about her childhood, her father's incarceration as a WW11 POW, or an incident that had happened to her the previous day,  she kept her audience captivated. Amidst her seriousness, her sense of humour crept through, and she'd have us in stitches. 

I loved listening to Diana. In conversations with a small group of friends, I always wanted to shush everybody when she was speaking, because she carried such gravitas, like a sense of nobility. She was knowledgeable, and she felt injustices deeply, as evidenced by her poems. When she spoke, I never wanted her to stop, because it was like being addressed by an All-Knowing One, A Wise One. 

And it wasn't just the content of  her speech - she had a really beautiful voice, like rich, dark, liquid chocolate. I loved it when she broke into song, in the middle of her poems.   

I could see, in recent years, that she was growing tired. Her post-retirement performance life was busy, and she sometimes mentioned in her Facebook posts that she needed to rest. What broke my heart was her references to how people took performers for granted.  

One of my points of creative collaboration was when she asked me to sing some of my originals at her book launch, in about 2011. A memorable creative intersection was in 2014, when I put music to one of her older poems, called "Have I Lost You?" I am so glad I got to perform it one night when she was in the audience.  

Diana, I cannot believe you're gone. The world is a lot less magical without you.  

     L-R: Diana Ferrus, Errol Dyers, Me, and my cousin, Derek Ronnie. (2014) Photo: Gregory Frantz