… a little bit of this, that and a lot more

Posts tagged ‘social’

My Spotty Memory

I wish I could say that my spotty memory is due to middle age, but alas, that would be the easy way out, and hell, will I EVER admit to something like that?? NO!!! ;p.

I noticed over a decade ago that I was starting to “miss” a few details in my dreary life. Heck, sometimes I think I’m missing days if not weeks in my dizzy existence.

People – friends, family, even colleagues – would be sharing anecdotes about this-that-or-the-other, and I will be like “Nah, don’t remember it“. Some of the stories they would share, would get reactions of “What?!?! I would never….!!!!” from me, because it just sounded like something that I would never do or say. And the looks of sheer perplexion on these loved one’s faces that I could ever forget such details…..how should I feel, eh??

Of course, the family – being Boo and Boys – just completely take advantage of my cagey memory, and definitely take as many chances as they can in order to
1. get away with murder
2. make me feel bad
3. get something out of me
4. get away with murder
Opportunists. I like it.

Admittedly, my memory is hazy, but I hate anyone trying to take me for a ride because of it. Hence I don’t let on that I have absolutely no freaking clue what people are on about. If I’m not sure about what they are talking about (i.e. have no cookin’ clue), I would just make non-committal noises, e.g “Oh…yes…hmm…ya…” or whenever I can, try to get more details to jog the brain, such as “I don’t exactly recall, can you refresh….” That works like a charm. Most of the time. Other times I just get the evil eye from people, you know that “She’s missing the whole box of screws…” -look. Yeah, I’m crazy alright.

But, it is embarrassing at times too. When I can’t remember people who I met last week. Or what I said to someone-or-another at a party. Or if I can’t remember what I did a few days ago, after breakfast. I sometimes miss hours of my day. Horrible, isn’t it??

On the flip side, there are things that I remember as clearly as the day it happened. Go figure. I can’t say if it’s something about the event, the person, or my state of mind at the time. There is just absolutely no pattern there. If there was a pattern, I would cling to it like a lifeline, and use that in order to hold on to memories, to details. Alas. No such luck.

I just worry that I will forget completely. Forget the wonder of the boys growing up – the first time they really looked and recognized me as their mom, their first smiles, their first hugs and kisses, the first day at school, losing their first teeth. It’s already starting to get foggier.
That fills me with dread. That I may be left with nothing to remind me of the best times in my life

I think I should write this in a memoir.

To make sure that I have something to remember.

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“Kullid Kultcha”

I said my next post would be something positive, and lo and behold…this is IT!! Enjoy 😉

I have been naafi (melancholic, off-sorts, upset, insert more negative emotions here) on-off over the past few months. No specific reason. Just some life-changing decisions we’ve had to make, my health issues, my personal issues.

I think I’ve just been a bitch and I need to stop it. Lighten up. Have some fun.

And I started thinking of what I am leaving behind….which alternately makes me sad, but also happy, and proud.

I have been reflecting on our mannerisms and “traditions” that makes us who we are. “Us” being the “Kullids” (Coloured is the PC-word) in South Africa. The little things that make up our “Kultcha” (that’s how we pronounce it), our identity, the way we talk, how we socialize, and township living.

One of the things I remember with a smile on my face is the “groente karretjie” (veggie carts) that used to do the rounds every Sunday – up and down the streets they would go, honking their horns to let us know what they have to sell that day. “Squashees” and “Wortels” (carrots) and “Dhania” (coriander) and “Mammie, ek het Spinach ok vir jou!!” (Miss, I have spinach just for you). These carts were simple & functional – no comfort or speed considered. These guys were life-savers every time. And once they got to know you, you would be guaranteed delivery of your “pakkie” (package) of onions, potatoes – you name it – first thing in the morning. Now that is service.

Groente Karretjie

Groente Karretjie


This picture does not do our groente karretjies justice – it is way too posh! 🙂

Partying is in our nature. We live and breathe for it. We don’t need any occasion to “make it happen”. A simple “kuier” (visit from friends) could turn into a full-fledged “howza” or “gazi” (house party). All it takes is one house, some friends, a cell-phone (to call all the other buddies), some snacks, and lots of “dop” (booze).

I miss those days the most. Here (Germany) you need to make an appointment to see your friends, you cannot party without informing – and getting the OK- from all the neighbours and maybe even the police. Otherwise you may just get into some unwanted trouble. Too much PT if you ask me.

Howza!

Howza!

Something else we “Kullids” love doing – sitting in front of our houses and watching everyone drive by. This is called “gesien word” (being seen). This is one way to get a “street bash” started (no need to translate I’m sure). All we need are – grass (or something to sit on – a car will do) and music. We don’t even really need a house. Any strip of grass will do, or any available space where we can “Park” (literally park our cars) and hang out. Oh, did I mention the booze? 😉

Since there are only a few streets where all the “hip-and-happening” people will be cruising on (really, they cruise like in the movies) you are guaranteed to have a good party going within minutes – if you are hip-and-happening, they will stop to say hi…and there you go – party started!!

And don’t forget to dress to the nines. Can’t be seen in public wearing last years’ rags at all. Totally uncool. But of course, you also have to be prepared because…

….From there, we move on to a Disco (also known as a Night Club). For us it was Club Bel Air, or Sewende Laan, or Times4 (not sure if this still exists). Since we chose places which were close-by, we didn’t have to drive far. We could walk. And if you didn’t have a lift, well, there were plenty who would give you one. Our Disco’s catered for our musical needs and style, i.e. no rave or techno. Only house beats, R&B, Hip Hop. Real music 😉

And of course, on Monday, no one would be in the office. Everyone would be sick. “Ek voel nie lekker nie” (I don’t feel well) was the excuse for Monday morning absences. Naturally, after a while the bosses became aware of what exactly that meant (Hang-overs galore) – which meant the fella’s needed to be more careful with the Sunday night parties.

On a long-weekend, we would go to the club for a “16Hour” – we call it that since the disco would end only when the sun came up. For us this was a big deal. If you were not in the “16Hour” you were totally un-cool. Everyone was there, everyone was seen. And your “kit” (what you wore), who you danced with, how you danced, who you hooked up with would be the topic of conversation for the next weeks to come.

And that’s just some things that makes the Coloureds so….ja, colourful. The speech, the mannerisms, the music, the openness, their love of booze and parties.

Boy, I miss it.

Quirky Age

It seems like all I am doing is posting when I am frustrated. This will change. With my next post I promise 😉

I’ve told you before that I am going though the Crises (midlife and menopause). I find that I experience so many different emotions – sometimes in the span of a few seconds – leaving me feeling dizzy and not quite as “in control” as I like to be.

One minute I love my husband to the moon and back, and the next I just want to kick him to the moon and back. He is a wonderful, caring man, has a heart of gold. And he puts up with all my shit. What more can I ask for?

Give me strength!

Give me strength!

But I am. I want the guy that I married 19 years ago, back.

I have a question to everyone who have been married for 20 years or longer….How on earth do you do it?

OK, I lied. I have MANY questions.

How do you stay married for 20 years and more, and not feel like you sometimes could happily strangle the guy? How do you keep the magic? Is the guy you married still the same, or has he changed much more than you anticipated?

How do you stay in love with someone that long? How do you not fall “out” of love? What does it take to stay physically attracted to each other? Just…HOW????

Don’t tell me about love and loyalty, and date-nights and what-not. Because once date night is over, you come home with the same guy, with the same shitty habits. I want something I can work with, not fairy tales.

And before you start throwing daggers – I know we all go through changes, our bodies change, we grow hair in inappropriate places. Everything that was perky and pretty is now…less perky and pretty (matured we call it ;-))

And we get used to all those changes, we become comfortable with it. But he’s changed way beyond what I can cope with right now.

His mission

His mission

He eats like every meal might be his last. When he eats, it’s such a racket, I swear you can hear him from a mile away. And the food is all over his face. I mean really?! Using a knife and fork is a challenge – there’s more food around the plate than in the plate.

He is constantly in the kitchen – eating sweets, or cookies or something. It seems like he is scared he will die if his mouth is not moving.

And his tongue lolls. Like a dog’s. I swear, I am not making this up.

When we watch movies, his mouth moves as if he’s repeating the actor’s lines.

Even his laugh has changed. He laughs like a deranged person. We are too scared to go to the movies because you can hear him above all else.

The kids are embarrassed by him.

I cannot say when exactly all this started, but I noticed.

It is driving me C R A Z Y.

And because of this he has become so un-sexy, that I can’t get it up anymore. I’m totally off it. I am running out of excuses already! Granted, there might be other reasons for this (such as my M&M’s) but I dunno….surely I should be happy for any sex I get at this age, seeing that I might not be able to get it up without some help in the near future, right?

Is all of this attributable to the M&M’s – my crises? Is this all just me being a shitty person? I am really hating myself for thinking all of this and for being such a mean person.

So what now, I ask you?? Shall I tell him? I don’t want to hurt his feelings. He already thinks I am a shrew, so can you imagine what he will call me after this? Anyway, the boys have already – on numerous occasions – told him about this, but he ignores it.

Is this normal? Has your guy also changed like this?

Am I just full of shit???

H E L P

D

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