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 

   

Written on 7 Jan 2026

In an hour's time, I start getting ready for a brunch date with a friend. I've been wanting to blog for SO long, and it feels like now's a good time. If I don't finish in time (I take a long time to edit my writing and find photos), I'll finish later. 

It's the last few days of our month-long summer holiday, with the new school year starting on Monday 12 Jan. I am happy to have had my teaching contract renewed for another year. No job is perfect, but this is where life has placed me, for now, and I  am grateful for this opportunity to make an impact at a school so rich in history and aligned with my political views. 

If you're not South African, you might find that statement strange. What do political views have to do with one's workplace? Almost 32 years into our post-apartheid democracy, there are still many issues to be addressed. Living in South Africa and pretending all our current problems are unrelated to apartheid, but solely the result of bad governance by the ANC, is both naive and incorrect. I would not survive in a context where the past was conveniently forgotten, to appease the historically privileged. 

But that's not what I want to write about today.    

Interestingly, I find that the state of my health is playing a more central role in my life choices. I had a medical check up a few days ago, and while my blood pressure had stabilised, my heart rate was still a problem. I've now been put on a tablet to address that. 

Some changes I've made, in recent months, include weekly walks in nature (my ultimate goal is daily walks), switching to a plant-based diet, cutting out most of the sweet treats I used to love, starting my day with a glass of lemon water, and generally pacing myself better. My guiding principle for living as stress-free a life as possible (a key element of blood pressure and heart health) is knowing myself. The next step is honouring myself, because life has shown me that it's possible to know yourself and still self-sabotage, as you live the way you were raised to, which is to consider everyone else's needs but your own. Finding the balance is important. Difficult, but important.   

Of course, a lot of this is much easier when you're on a four-week break from work. Once I'm back, the likelihood of slipping into patterns that don't serve me is strong, and that's the challenge I'll face next week.  I do think, though, that in the 28 months that I've been in this job, I've sorted out quite a bit. The difficulty for me is that I am prone to being a workaholic, and living alone simply exacerbates it. When you live with someone else, there's a sane (ideally) person around you, reminding you that there's more to life than work. When you're on your own, it's easy to come home, have a snack, then launch into schoolwork for the next few hours, until your stiff neck makes you realise it's almost midnight, and you should probably shower and get to bed. That's the harmful and life-shortening pattern I plan to break. Or, in modern-speak, disrupt.

I fully appreciate that living alone has pros and cons. I love living alone, but it means I always have to go somewhere for any social interaction. It sounds silly, but it's the truth. When you live with even one other person, you have a built-in little society inside your home. 

Going to work every day also provides social interaction - sometimes too much! - which I really do value. During last year, I got to know my colleagues better, and forged bonds with people who had similar life values and approaches to education.  So yes, having a job is about so much more than earning a salary - and teaching is like a few jobs rolled into one.  

(I didn't  finish this on the day I wrote it, but I'll post it as is. )

Ok - time to get ready.    

Carpe diem

There's something SO weird about how I live my life - there are two things that I absolutely love that I just keep putting off: playing my guitar, and blogging. I don't understand it at all. 

There's so much to write about, but I'll mention just a few. It's past 11pm, and I'm really tired. 

Towards the end of August, our school had a Wellness programme for the staff, and I was shocked to discover that my blood pressure was really high. Accustomed to having normal readings, I was quite alarmed. About a week later, I checked it again at a local pharmacy, and it was roughly the same. Then I had an experience one night, where I thought I was having a heart attack. The next day, I went to the doctor, who found my BP was still high, and that my heart rate was also elevated. I had a few tests, and nothing was apparent regarding the heart rate, but I was put on a tablet to bring down the BP. I also had to buy a monitor, to do daily readings. I'm just finishing my tenth week of that. This is all very new to me.  The BP is a lot better, mostly within the normal range, but the heart rate is still alarming.  

Thinking about my health and what could've contributed to my concerning readings, I'm convinced my job is at the heart of it (no pun intended). When I'm not at school, I sit for hours, doing schoolwork. And I know I've been comfort eating since I started living in this flatlet. So it's the stress of my job, my sedentary lifestyle, and my undisciplined eating. There's probably some hormonal stuff, as well as genetics,  and not forgetting ageing. 

So, as part of improving my health, I've become more mindful. I'm consciously trying not to stress as much at work (NOT easy), and I'm proud to say that I've started a weekly routine of taking a walk in nature. Every Sunday morning, for the past 5 weeks, I've done so. I would love to do it daily, but right now that's not possible.  

I'm also working on having better boundaries (linked to stress levels), and - another BIG thing in my life - getting enough sleep.  I've been doing the too-little-sleep thing for so many years, it's a real struggle to get to bed at a healthy time.  

Needless to say, I've become very aware of my mortality, and am trying to live my life with a healthy sense of carpe diem. Maybe my heart's beating so fast for a reason.

I had to take a big decision, recently, on a matter of principle, and even that was about wanting to live without ambiguity, and staying true to my values. 

I have two more days before my November exam marks are due, which means HOURS and HOURS of marking, both tomorrow and Monday. There's so much about our education system I just don't understand. Our school was denied permission to start our final exams on the same date that  neighbouring schools started theirs; as a result, we are really pressed for time, regarding submission of marks. With a fairly large contingent of our staff involved in marking matric exams, our window of time between the end of exams and the date they report to the marking centre is painfully small. This kind of man-made pressure is something I will never understand. It feels arbitrary and avoidable. So we're killing ourselves, trying to meet the deadline, and then when the others leave for external marking, a day or two later, we have way too many days to clean classroom cupboards.

I've been involved in a project called Quilting for Palestine, along with lots of other women. We knitted and crocheted squares in the colours of the Palestinian flag, and are now in the process of sewing them together. Next Saturday, on International Palestine Solidarity Day, we'll be showing the huge blanket in public.  It's been a deeply moving experience, so far, and I think next Saturday is going to feel a lot more so.         

I think I should end off now. This hasn't been an award-winning post, but maybe that's my problem - I don't want to do lukewarm, so I end up not doing anything.

Ok, I promise I will play my guitar and blog more frequently.

And life, while we have it, goes on.    

Oudtshoorn and Paternoster

And today, on 22 November, I'm finally posting something that's been sitting in my draft folder for months. It ends a bit abruptly, but I have no idea what else I wanted to write, back then.  Anyway, here goes.

~~~~~~

What do Oudtshoorn and Paternoster have in common? They were both visited by ME this year! :-) 

This year has been different in a number of ways, including that I've gone away for a few days in both school holidays, thus far. In the March holiday, along with three colleagues, I accompanied 38 high school kids to the 29th annual Klein Karoo Nasionale Kunstefees (KKNK). This trip, which included two long bus rides of about seven hours each, plus multiple short trips within Oudtshoorn, was made possible by the organisers of the KKNK, in partnership with the WCED. The participating schools were all Arts Focus schools, from previously disadvantaged communities. 

How did I get involved? One of our teachers (Drama) was unable to make it, so I was approached. I fall into that demographic of teachers with no dependants, so I'm occasionally asked to do things like this that may be inconvenient or difficult for people with families.  Sometimes it's really cool, like the KKNK one. 

We were accommodated in a school hostel, where we had most of our meals. With eight schools, and roughly 40 kids and 4 teachers per school, as well as officials from the Education Dept, we were about 400 in total. Female teachers and students stayed in one building, and male teachers and students in another.  Breakfast was punctually at 07h00, and within an hour, the first activity of the day commenced. Sometimes this was a workshop or rehearsal at the school, and sometimes it was hopping onto our bus (comfy, with an excellent driver), to attend a show at the festival. 

We saw theatre performances, ballet and modern dance, live music at the big 'feesterrein' (festival grounds), as well as art exhibitions and other fascinating things on display at the festival. Most things were in Afrikaans, and some of our kids struggled to follow some of the dialogue in the theatrical pieces. 

I could go on and on, but I'm timing myself for this post, because of my looming To Do list. School starts in two days, so I'm in planning mode. 

What were the highlights for me, besides feasting my eyes, for hours, on the different landscapes and mountain passes that fed my soul? (Yes, I enjoyed the bus rides!) Well, I really enjoyed being around the schoolkids and watching them shine in their different art forms - Visual Art, Drama, Dance and Music. I enjoyed walking around the town to the different art exhibitions, where I saw some incredible art (that we were not allowed to photograph, in most cases). I loved the show by Cape Ballet Africa, and I was moved to tears by the opera singing of Lynelle Kenned, who sang 'O Mio Babbino Caro' - an aria from Puccini's Gianni Schicchi - which my mother used to sing. But the highlight of my KKNK experience was the theatre piece 'Laaitie mettie biscuits', written and directed by Christo Davids. The cast of four kept us riveted for the entire performance. I actually don't know when last theatre has affected me that way. To the writer (who was there, in the audience), the cast, and everyone else involved in the production: Bravissimo! I would love to watch this production again. I highly recommend it as a piece of South African theatrical excellence. 

We left school on the morning of Monday 31 March, and returned on the evening of Thursday 3 April. Given that it was just a short school holiday, when we started the new term, on Tuesday 8 April, I felt like I needed a holiday. Having said  as much, I am very happy that I went, and happy that it sparked in me a desire to travel to more towns in the Western Cape. 

In this school holiday (we return to school in two days' time), my daughter treated me to a holiday in a seaside town called Paternoster. Cape Town has the luxury of two coastlines, with different oceans (Atlantic and Indian), and Paternoster is on the West Coast. Roughly two hours' drive from Cape Town, it is a fishing town that seems to derive quite a bit of its income from the tourism industry.  My daughter found a beautiful house, with all the creature comforts, where we stayed for three nights. The best part was spending time with my daughter, and the second best part was living 100m from the sea! We walked on the beach every day, and woke up and fell asleep to the sound of he sea. My idea of heaven on earth! 

On our way to Paternoster, we spent about two hours at !Kwah Ttu, the San Heritage Centre. It was impressive, to say the least, and I learnt a lot. I'd like to go back again sometime. 

On our way back, we stopped in Langebaan. another coastal favourite, where we attempted to walk on the beach but just managed to take a few photos, because it was so cold and windy. We did manage to find a little restaurant where we enjoyed our final holiday meal, and visit my former hairdresser, Roz, at her salon. (Now that I know how relatively close Langebaan is,.......) 

 

Profound goodbyes

I'm always astounded at how much time I let pass between blog posts. As I've written many times before, I think about blogging all the time. There's so much of life that I want to put down in writing, but I just don't. As I've also written many times before, it's in my daily journalling that I express my raw feelings about life and its beauty and strangeness.

Since I last wrote, four people in my circle have passed away: in March, it was Harriet Enus, the mom of my dear friend, Anton (whom I met at age six, in Durban). In June, it was a friend, Trevor Roberts, who died a few months after being diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour. Trevor was also a friend I'd met in Durban, at age six. In July, it was Margaret Schultz, the mom of another dear friend, Sandi. My thoughts are with those families, as they grieve for their loved ones.  

The fourth one, the one that changed my world fundamentally, was on 5 May, when my mom died, the day before her 95th birthday. 

I could probably spend many years blogging about my mom and what she meant to me, and I hope to put as much as possible in writing, over time. At this stage, two and a half months after her passing, my thoughts turn to her every day. A friend asked recently how I was coping, and I replied that I thought about her in categories.  I think about my mom as she was during my childhood, when she was my whole world. I think about her during my teenage years, when I'd started making choices that conflicted with my upbringing  - like joining different churches, and getting baptised in a 'born-again' church. I think about her when I was a young adult, teaching, living on my own, my life filled with the drama of tempestuous relationships. I think about her when I was married and became a mom, how her love for her children automatically spilled over to her grandchildren. (My sister had her two children in the 1980s, and I had mine in the 1990s.)   

I think about my mother in her senior years, before she was struck down by Alzheimer's.  She was independent, taking public transport to Claremont on pension day, taking herself for a modest meal at Wimpy (sometimes taking a grandchild along), kept putting on and performing in concerts in her early 80s, and was a solid source of love and support for her family. No-one in my life has ever loved and supported me that much. She was unique to me. She loved us unconditionally. 

When she became ill (diagnosed with Amnestic Syndrome in 2012, and Alzheimer's Disease, a year later), and needed to live in a place where she could be cared for 24/7, I had to be honest that I was not by the means - financially and emotionally - to take on that responsibility. My sister opened her home to my mom, which is where she lived for the next thirteen years, until her death, at home. My sister cared for her, with love, humour, and the expertise gained from her nursing career, and involved her in family events. I am acutely aware of what a huge undertaking that was and will always be grateful for that immense outpouring of love over all those years. It takes a kind of superhero to do such prolonged caregiving. 

For the first seven years of my mother's illness, she spent every second weekend with me. During the Covid lockdown, she couldn't leave the house, and that lack of relief placed a huge burden on my sister. Around that same time, I was having online therapy sessions to deal with some long-standing issues, and one of the outcomes was that I needed to reduce the frequency of my weekends with my mom, in order to take better care of myself. When lockdown was over, I then had my mom with me one weekend a month. It meant a lot to me to be able to spend that time with her, while it saddened me to watch her condition worsening over time. 

One year ago, when I downsized my living space, in order to cope financially (and work away the debt incurred by College of Cape Town not paying my salary for 6 months), I moved into an affordable place just big enough for one person. I budgeted to spend our monthly weekends together at suitable Airbnbs, which I thought we could turn into little adventures. At that time, my sister informed me that our mom's condition was such that it was no longer advisable for her to sleep out of the house.   

I think about my mother when, despite having Alzheimer's, she could still sight-read, and play the  piano. I think about her sense of humour that was evident until about a month before she died. I think about how, in that last month of her life, she lost her ability to walk, and all the ramifications of that loss. I think about how she could no longer swallow properly, and my sister had to feed her soft things like soup, yoghurt, and Ensure. 

I think about the Sunday night my sister messaged me to say that Mom wasn't doing well, and that she had had the priest around to anoint her.  I realised that things were very serious, and went there the next day, to spend time with my mom and my sister. From the morning, already, Mom was displaying the death rattle, which was unnerving to hear. I won't go into any of the details of that day (although I think about them a lot), except to say that she died at 22h15 that night. 

There were quite a few things related to what happens after someone dies that made me feel alienated, but that's personal stuff I have to process over time. 

Mom died on Monday 5 May, her funeral was on Friday 9 May, and her ashes were interred on Sunday 29 June.  

And now, life goes on. But differently. I could never be my mother - she was unique, anyway - but I think both her children and her four grandchildren bear elements of her, which is a beautiful legacy. I will honour her by living as authentically as I can, opening myself to life and its energies, being loving and supportive to the people I hold dear, and always having music in my life.  

                        Mom, a few years ago, playing the piano she bought in Durban, +- 1970

Dreams and dreams

Today is the final day of a three-day-long weekend, and the final day before the last week of the first school term.  I am about to spend my third consecutive day marking. I could spend this entire post complaining, analysing, coming up with suggestions for how the system could be improved, but there's something futile about it. Isn't that just an awful feeling? Having so much to say, so many ideas that are implementable, but feeling a sense of  overwhelming futility?

I had the strangest dream, last night. Sometimes I remember my dreams in detail, and at other times, I wake up knowing I've had a busy dream, but not recalling a thing.  I was in a plane with a friend - a normal passenger plane that seats hundreds of people. It's someone I seldom see, but whom I saw a few days ago, Oh, in fact it's her birthday today! We were seated next to each other, and I decided I wanted to relax on the roof of the plane. Yes. I took my relaxing things with me, climbed some stairs, and went to lie down on a deck on the top of the aeroplane - outside. Nothing wrong with that, right? :-) I was awoken by a phone call from my daughter, who was angry that I hadn't wished her for her birthday. I felt the plane start to descend, so I told her I had to get back inside because it had started its descent. I went back inside, and the dream continued for quite long after that, with me inevitably looking for something I'd misplaced, and everyone realising that a woman seated one row from us was the wife of Jonah Lomu, the late great All Blacks rugby superstar. Random, Trudes!!! I don't even like rugby!    

So, before I launch into the serious stuff of the day, what can I write about?

A different kind of dream. A dream of a lifestyle completely different to the one I have. In this dream,  I live so close to the ocean, that part of my daily routine is a leisurely walk on the beach. I walk in the shallow water, and I feel an incredible sense of oneness with nature. The sensation of the water and sand on my skin, and the sounds of the waves and the seagulls, as well as the fresh smell of the ocean, fill my soul with such deep peace and joy, that I feel like a child again. I have always loved the sea, and it still feels like my place of innocence and joy, before life showed me the things I wasn't raised to expect.

I remember, in my childhood, being given the nickname "Water" (in Afrikaans - spelt the same as in English), because wherever we went, I was always the first to get into the water, and was happiest when I could stay there for most of the outing.  I watch my daughter in the sea, now, and know that she's the same. Water is her element. Interesting - she's a fire sign and I'm an earth sign. I suppose both need water for something or the other.  Come to think of it, my son swims practically every day, so I suppose it's in all of us, that love for water. And their dad was a competitive swimmer, at high school. So they get it from both of us. Yup.

I have to fight through the layers of adult awareness to remember the sheer delight of my experiences in the sea. They continued into my adult life, actually. In my twenties, I hung out with a group of  lifesavers, where the ocean and the beach were what life was all about. Oh, they also swam competitively (a very competitive bunch, come to think of it), and played water polo as well. I spent a lot of time at the beach back then. My car was always full of sand, but I remember the good feeling of having spent a day swimming in the sea and relaxing on the sand - that luxurious tiredness, the eyes stinging from the salt, the skin warm from the sun, and the pleasurable sensation of a soft t-shirt touching your skin before you drove home. Oh, and the hunger!!! The sea gives one such an appetite!

I also enjoyed the beach for just soaking up the sun. My cousin, Tracy, and I loved going to Saunders Rock, in Sea Point, to just lie in the sun! We'd read, talk, or just lie on our towels in silence, lathered in sunblock (or was it suntan lotion, at the time?), working on our tans. I don't think we were even aware of the benefits of the sun, nor of the possible dangers of over-exposure. We were just enjoying ourselves. I even got into the habit of timing myself, spending equal amounts of time lying on my tummy and on my back. :-)          

But, back to my dream. (Can you imagine how I struggle to meditate without a guided soundtrack?!) I would complete my walk, then go back to my cosy, comfortable cottage, which has all the creature comforts - including wifi - and proceed with the rest of my day.  After my shower, I'd have a tasty breakfast, while watching the sea. Then I'd switch on my laptop, and do some work. My work entails writing, proofreading and editing. I get paid by individuals and companies, but I also allocate time to doing pro bono work for NPOs. Besides that, I spend time creating crocheted and knitted items, which I sell. I do my creative stuff at a pace that suits me. I also sell recordings of my original songs, performing only when all the elements appeal to me. 

Another of my passions I obviously pursue is my love for radio. I have a weekly programme on radio, where I interview interesting people, and play music in between the chatting. Just like I did in 2014. I love being back on radio. 

One of my main activities, in my cosy cottage by the sea, where I inhale fresh air, allow myself to be be mesmerised and humbled by the sunrises and sunsets, and live life at my own pace, is writing. Did I mention that I am a published author, in my dream? Yes, I am. Most people don't know that my love for writing often supercedes my love for making music. I can go for days without playing my guitar, but not without writing. My widely-read books take me to interesting places, where I engage with school children and adults, discussing topics I've explored.   

(I have just deleted an entire paragraph, which I can't seem to retrieve!) 

 At the end of the day, just before sunset, I take another walk on the beach. I reflect on my day and allow nature to inspire me. 

I come back, enjoy my supper while watching the sunset, then have another shower - ooh, or a leisurely bath, because my cosy cottage by the sea will of course have a bath - before settling down to do whatever pleases me.    

The paragraph I deleted had something about scheduling time with family and friends, and enjoying hanging out with them, sometimes going to new places and having new experiences - all without feeling pressured or rushed. I think that's what I'm yearning for. Not just autonomy, but a slower, less frenzied, pace of life that feels manageable, but also varied and enjoyable. I have to have something to look forward to. 

I'm 63 and a half years old. How feasible is my dream? I think I should simply start introducing bits of it at a time, like one creates a granny-square blanket. In the end, after quite a bit of chaos - and doubt - it all comes together beautifully. I think that's a great metaphor. Maybe that's why I felt compelled to write today. I seldom know where the writing will take me. I quite like that feeling. 

                            2024 - assembling squares of a blanket made with my cousin, Theresa.

I owe it to myself

I moved into my flatlet (my "tiny house") in the middle of last year. It was one of the biggest changes I'd voluntarily undertaken in a long time.  I must admit, I find change exciting, and I get restless when things stay the same for too long. Not that they do, because, within the apparent sameness, there's a lot of volatility. After I'd settled in, I thought I'd embark on a big new adventure every six months, but life kept me so busy and distracted, that I think I'm probably looking at a new adventure every 12 months.  

So what's the big 'adventure' I want this year? Well, I'll keep the details private for now. Working on it. I tend to procrastinate, but when my restlessness reaches boiling point, I spring into action, somewhat impatient to arrive at my new destination. We'll see.   

I caught part of a video, recently, where Jane Fonda (US actress, with a long history of  human rights activism) was interviewed. She said that, as she got older (she's 87), she decided that, to experience life fully, she would go about her life more intentionally. It really resonated with me. You know what I hate? I hate looking back at a period of time, and feeling like all I've actually focussed on is survival. I hate that! And I won't feel guilty for wanting more. There has to be more to life.  

There's so much more I could be filling my life with, so much I could be creating, so many songs I could be learning, writing, or singing, but here I am, plodding through day after day of what's expected of me, thinking and saying what's expected of me, and wondering when I'll find the time to do what makes my soul soar - what I expect of myself.  

I know, having been through this many times before, that restlessness is a necessary precursor to change. My life, starting from my childhood, has been a developing story with many, quite distinct, chapters.  It's time to work on a suitable ending for this one, and write the next.  Nature does it all the time - as the seasons change, different trees take their turns to bear their unique fruits.  

   I took this pic of the guava tree outside my kitchen on 2 March. 

Yes - I'll write that new chapter intentionally. 

I owe it to myself.