Or are we going 1.1, 1.2... 1.10 then 2.0, 2.1, etc until 3? I thought it was supposed to be "Three's a charm".
My day started with our neighbour, at some ungodly hour (it was still dark in my bedroom and my alarm had NOT rung yet), revving his car in front of my bedroom. He must have revved for over half an hour. He then hooted for his kids... and went back to revving once they had all slammed and shouted their way into the car. After a while, I dozed off again.
I should have taken the hint, though, when my pc, after numerous restarts, refused to connect to the internet. It had no right! Perhaps it needed revving too. Finally, I got up and running and was  merrily checking my mail when the cat started crying for her ball. That can get annoying. She wants her ball and wants it now. Trouble is, her favourite ball is transparent and blends soooo well. I found it and asked Jorge to drill the hole in the ball a little larger, so that I could put a piece of ribbon in there, which would make finding the ball easier.

Innocent-looking, isn't it? By the way, the ribbon is held in place by a clove. Our cat thinks that cloves are catnip. We ran out of catnip months ago. This is her substitute.

Jorge ambled off to oblige. A little later, I heard an ominous curse from the kitchen.
One of Jorge's prize tools is his Dremel. He had just blown the motor (or something) by putting it into the wrong outlet. In Brazil, the mainstream power is 110 volts. We are accustomed to 220 volts from South Africa. When we arrived here, we checked all the outlets for 220 and found none. Eventually, Jorge set up a 220 volt outlet in our passage, so that we could use our South African-born appliances and tools anywhere in the house via extension cord. Today, Jorge went to use the one power outlet we never tested because we couldn't see a use for it. This outlet sits above the kitchen sink, right near the faucets. The sink area was clear and just needing a quick spin, he thought he'd just plug in there and drill. He broke his own golden rule of never using an untested outlet, especially with Brazil's rather dubious power. The Dremel was 110 volts. The excess power fried it.
The good news? There is none. Dremel here won't sell just the parts. They will only repair and that will cost. The parts will cost too. Ugh!
Oh... and on the subject of the sink and faucets. We've had no filtered water here for a few days. The thread on the filter's tap was totally shot, so the filter was removed. The new tap cost us a penny today. I think Jorge decided we'd at least have that in the light of the hopelessness of his Dremel.
Then there seems to be something in the air. All over the world, people seem to be antsy and snappy. What is it?

We're finally in some sort of a winter here. We're in 'garoa' season, though I see there are warnings for heavy rains in many states. Garoa takes some getting used to. Imagine a rain that swirls like mist, penetrates everything, but differs from mist in that you feel the raindrops... ever so lightly... on your skin. This can go on for weeks. Dull... grey... cold... wet. Perfect weather for feijoada.

This photo is for Ben ; )

Feijoada is traditionally, a dish made with pork, specifically the... uh... less salubrious parts, such as the ears, tail and snout. It has a long history here in Brazil though. The early slaves were given the 'leftovers' of the pig to use for nutrition. Cooked with beans and served over rice, it became a staple, prized, too, for the fact that you could stretch the one pot of meal out over a few days - or serve a veritable army. Today, the dish is prepared rather differently. I blogged that before, so I won't repeat it here. My way is somewhat different. My feijoada is a mix of stewing beef, pork (usually chops, but often shank), calabresa (a spicy sausage), and beans. Simple. I soak the beans for around 5 hours ahead of time. At the time, I pop onion, garlic, meat and beans into the pressure cooker, add some stock and herbs, cover with water and let it putter away for just over an hour. I then cook up the rice and supper is ready. Day 2, I serve leftovers. Day 3, I stretch it with another calabresa ; ) Yep... it goes a long way and is perfect for the lazy cook. Naturally, if you're good, you'll serve this with salad : ) Traditionally, feijoada is served with caipirinha.
As you may have noticed (or not), I haven't been blogging lately. I had a fair amount on my mind. I won't go into details because the stories aren't necessarily mine to tell. Work has also been extremely, worryingly slow. We get through though. We always do... somehow. In the meantime, we're enjoying the cold... and the quiet. Cold weather drives the locals indoors and the streets become relatively quiet by comparison to normal.
So nothing newsy here, really. Just checking in to let you all know I'm still alive... just in case you were wondering ; )

I thought I'd bring this old blog of mine across from 360°. I have added to it somewhat.

"Decide that you'll be successful and happy come what may, and good things will find you. The roadblocks are only minor obstacles along the way."  I got to thinking about the roadblocks and detours in our lives.

What is a roadblock? One of Webster's Random House definitions is:

road·block n.
1. an obstruction placed across a road, esp. of barricades or police cars, for halting or hindering traffic, as to facilitate the capture of a pursued car or inspection for safety violations.

Yes, I know there are roadblocks that frustrate us and some may even be dangerous, but I'm thinking of the roadblocks that we usually encounter. You're on your way home at night, in a rush to get home and tuck into bed after an evening out. You are stopped at a roadblock. Sure, its frustrating, but why is the roadblock there? Ultimately, for our protection. Its the roadblock that checks for the drunk/drugged drivers who are a danger to us on the road. Its the roadblock that is looking for the criminal. Its the roadblock looking for cars driving without headlights or break lights.

Roadblocks also serve to give us a moment's pause. Perhaps we need to stop and rethink our route... or simply rest a while. I am grateful for the roadblocks that stopped me flying straight into a destiny that may not have been the right thing for me.

Detours are similar. They take us around possible problem areas and we get to enjoy the scenery on the road. I, personally, by choice often take the scenic route (and no, it isn't always because I'm lost!). Perhaps a different lesson needs to be learnt along the way (like mapreading). Each part of the journey is as important.

We all have our dreams. Some of us have very big dreams. I have decided that I will reach my dreams. I will have the future I want and crave. I have had more roadblocks and detours on this road than I care to count, but, you know what? Those roadblocks are a protection for me. Perhaps the roadblock has made me detour (rockslide or fallen tree). The detour may have prevented me from falling down an unstable cliff face or provided me with a more scenic way of getting where I'm going.

I think I will look at my roadblocks in a different light from here on. I still hope there will be as few as possible because I'm not a very patient person and I really, really want that dream to come true. ASAP please : )

teasing tormenting playing laughing

collaborating helping teaching being
a father

Every year, we would go to the South African Consulate Function in April. It was usually a rather grandiose affair, but on this occasion, they had outdone themselves. Food was French style, ie. more artistic than designed to sustain, with an appetiser of Carpaccio of Ostrich, a rare meat here, but fairly common in South Africa. Wine flowed freely the whole evening. Designer gowns, flashy jewelry, and fancy cars abounded. The venue was an upmarket Bingo hall, Imperatriz. The building was palacial, done in an African style, with dark African warriors lining the walls, huge tusks curving up towards the ceilings, which were lit with myriads of tiny lights. The entrance hall boasted enormous statues of elephants and giraffes.
The place and the event epitomised extravagance to me in every sense of the word.

Lindiwe Zulu, the South African ambassador to Brazil broke out in song during the speeches. I think the chap standing behind her looks somewhat uncomfortable. As you can hear by the background noise, the song was a hit, especially among her fellow Xhosa's.

The "African" dancers. Their performance was very un-African, performed by Brazilian dancers who had never been to Africa, and the ambassador was angry. A few nasty office memo's flew around after the event.

Apologies for the video quality with this last one.

Visit Picture Perfect to view more examples of Extravagance or to join in the fun.

It has been a somewhat rough weekend on this end. I started today thinking that it is at least a brand new week, but tension is still running high. You know one of those days when the air is thick and the silence, heavy. You know how one negative thing seems to be contagious... and everything else goes wrong from there? Well, it's true and I'll be danged if it isn't really hard to turn it around, especially when there are other stressors involved that aren't just going to go away in a hurry and I'm having a 'glass walls' kind of life. Ah well... we'll try for the 'new day' thing tomorrow again.
Jorge went to some event at the Immigrant's museum yesterday. Looked like it could have been fun.

Lithuanian dancers...

Russian...

Aren't they cute?

A very different sort of lifestyle

The photos, of course, were taken by Jorge. Tat and I stayed home and relaxed. It was peaceful ; )

I have been meaning to blog, but every night, I go to bed thinking... oh darn.... didn't blog today. Somehow, the days have just filled themselves up.
At the start of the week, I was having a discussion with a friend on English and vocabulary. I showed her a recipe for a simply divine lemon sorbet I had found - I will post the recipe. She said, "Oh, sherbet." To me, sherbet is a tangy powder kids love to lick out of packets, which fizzes and tingles in your mouth. Sorbet is a frozen fruit juice. I wandered off to my bookshelf and hauled down the rather hefty Google. Apparently, a sorbet is what I think it is, while a sherbet may contain egg or dairy. Frankly, every site I land on seems to argue the toss. Apparently, my concept of sherbet is more of a British thing.
I found this:

Sherbet is a surprisingly easy sweet to make, with only three ingredients and no cooking involved. To make your own sherbet, you will need:
Sugar, usually caster or icing sugar
Bicarbonate of soda (aka sodium hydrogen carbonate, aka 'bicarb' or baking soda)
Powdered or crystalline citric acid (Note 1)

The manufacturing process is quite simple: mix the ingredients together. Just make sure your equipment and ingredients are dry (this is really important). The citric acid usually comes as dry crystals or powder. If they offer you a liquid form (a solution), just say no! The sherbet begins to dissolve and fizz as soon as it comes in contact with liquid, so it must stay dry until it touches the tongue.

The hard part is getting the taste right. You change the taste by changing the proportions of the three ingredients. A good place to start is with two teaspoons of sugar, one teaspoon of citric acid, and half a teaspoon of bicarb.

One source suggested using jelly powder (jello) for flavour. I suggested that my friend makes some to keep her kids amused during the long summer holidays. I think she may have fainted, having visions of sherbet-coated sofas. (Another Englishism... to me, it is a 'couch', but everyone else seems to insist on calling it a 'sofa'). I then suggested playdough....

The idea of playdough on her couches got me a similar reaction, so I suggested that she shut her kids in the bathroom with a tub of playdough. More horror ensued. Do I know how boys and faucets ('taps' to me) mix?? I gave up at that point. Boys are as much of a mystery to me as speaking Portuguese. Basic communication is possible, but let's not get too deep ; )

Tat was raised on playdough. In the photo above, she is the grubby urchin in the middle clutching her Tupperware containing playdough. There was always playdough on hand in various colours to keep the kids amused. Here is the recipe I used (for those who have little horrors to keep entertained):

    *  1 cup flour
    *  1 cup warm water
    *  2 teaspoons cream of tartar
    *  1 teaspoon oil
    *  1/4 cup salt
    *   food coloring

Mix all ingredients, adding food coloring last. Stir over medium heat until smooth. Remove from pan and knead until blended smooth. Place in plastic bag or airtight container when cooled. Will last for a long time.

Speaking of keeping entertained, here is the latest project I am busy on. It is a challenge, but I'm enjoying it. Sadly, the original wasn't very big. This comes from a photo album that got wet. The pages stuck together and ink from the opposite side transferred to the photo.

On Wednesday, Tat went for her endoscopy. Somehow, this must have gotten to me, as I dreamt the night before that she never woke up from the anesthetic. I've been having many disturbing dreams. The night before, I had a dream that could rival the horror movies I refuse to watch, complete with butcher's knives and gore. Thankfully, I don't remember much of that dream, but I remember the dream of Tatiana very clearly. Anyhow, the endoscopy went well enough. All the other patients wobbled out, supported by the nursing staff, while Tat did her Tigger thing coming out, chatting brightly to the nurse. That kid is weird. We will get the results in 20 days. It is a timing thing here. I'm not terribly surprised, as we had to wait over 6 months for the actual exam appointment.

My next task is to get my sewing machine repaired. It has never worked since our move. I don't relish hand sewing. I commented to Tat that there was a time when I was so very proud of my hand sewing, but now I'll avoid it at all costs. I hold my pc responsible for that, along with the downfall of my handwriting, which was never stellar.

São Paulo is designed, to me, in a strange manner. In the center of the city is Sê Cathedral - literally, the center. All distances in the city are measured from this cathedral. Whatever road you're on, the numbering of the property is based on the distance from this cathedral. The lowest number on the road is the end closest to the cathedral. Properties here aren't numbered, as such, but go according to their size, so you are number 1234 on XYZ road based on the fact that your front door is 1234 meters away from the end of the road closest to the cathedral.

For more Picture Perfect or to join in the fun, go here.

First the whine.... Well, the end of the whine, at least. In case no one noticed, I was absent for a while. My last blog was a rather half-hearted attempt at Picture Perfect what seems like an age ago. Looking at that photo and the one I have here makes me want to toss the camera or at least let someone else take over the shutter. The last photo's excuse is that it is a very old scanned in photo. This photo has no excuse, but it still illustrates the point.

I was having a chat with a friend last night when I needed to pop off to the kitchen to deal with the cheese. It was one of those meals. I thawed what I thought was stewing beef, but, once thawed, it turned out to be mince, or what some of you call ground beef or hamburger. Where on earth does that come from anyway?? No connection at all. This brings me around to the point of this blog.... words.

A Brazilianism for you... They don't grate cheese here. Some of you would call that shredded cheese. Cheese is offered whole or sliced, more often sliced. I prefer sprinkling grated cheese on my food. One place that I found did 'grated' cheese, actually minced the cheese..... erm... what some of you would call 'ground', as in the 'ground beef'. Ever seen minced cheese? It looks like worms. Seriously not appetising.... but back to the words thing...

While having this rather confusing conversation, I came to the conclusion that British English, South African English and American English are three different languages. In South Africa, we speak British English, for the most part, though there's a healthy addition of localisms that would confuse the best of you. For us, for example, a traffic light is called a 'robot'. Words like 'bakkie', 'biltong', 'boerewors', and 'lekker' abound. The Americans take the prize though.

The cheese I have photographed is, what I would call, 'grated'. Americans call it shredded. I use a grater to grate cheese. The grater slices off slivers of cheese. Shredding is a different process, to my knowledge. Our cat shreds paper. I think she'd make a mess of cheese, if caught on a fussy day when she deems cheese inappropriate for diet. Then there's the mince, or 'ground beef'. I don't know about you, but I grind pepper and other spices, either in a grinder or with a pestle and mortar, or we grind flour in a mill. Grinding beef would be rather hard to do. We won't go down the hamburger route. According to Webster's Random House, 'hamburger' is ground or chopped beef. 'Chopped'? That would take forever! I tried to understand... honestly I did. I looked up 'grind' and found no beef. How is your... uh... finely processed beef actually processed? Is it processed with an odd-looking machine with a funnel thing at the top and holes in the front, producing, dare I say, 'meat worms'? Now before I'm accused of word prejudice, Webster's Random House is American, giving British 'alternatives'. 'Mince' according to Webster's is also, finely chopped. Ah.... I give up! I'm not one to mince my words.... Gee... that was bad... Bad, bad pun..... really bad... *slinks off again*

My friend, Michelle, on blogger gave me this award. Thank you, Michelle! You brightened my day. I found her through a poem she wrote, and the friendship grew. I am honoured to be on her friends list, never mind her thinking my blog is worth reading. If anyone deserves this award, she does. Her blogs are not only very readable, but speak to the heart. She's 'good people' : ) I would give her the award, but she already has it. I do know that I need to find people to give this award to. Shouldn't be hard... there are some amazing bloggers on my list.
First off, what do I look for in a blog? I like blogs where I can see a little of the soul of the writer. I like personal blogs, not blogs copied from the latest e-mail or news report, though I do happily read those too. I like blogs that tell me about your life and where you are. I like blogs that let me connect to a person on the other end. Herewith, a few, who, in my opinion, for various reasons, deserve the "Excellent blog award".

1. Kippy - Kippy always has something thought-provoking to offer, and often fun too, not to mention the visual appeal of her photography
2. Heather - Her photos and words have a deep emotional appeal. On most things, we speak the same language. Her blog is for contacts only though
3. Eileen - Her world is just so different and she presents it in an entertaining and very readable way. Her art is a joy to experience
4. Lisa - Fun and funky. Her world is multicoloured, much like her little car. Her blogs are never less than fascinating
5. Port Elizabeth Daily Photo - because the place means so much to me and the photos are sooo well worth it!
6. Libby - Open, honest. If anyone can look on the bright side, it is her and she cooks the most fascinating food. Reading about her travels would be enough to have me going back
7. Catherine - a relatively new friend. I love her blogging style. She takes the punches life gives in her stride and laughs at them. I love her outlook on life. Just her avatar makes me smile

Ah... I'm leaving it at 7. There are more here who are wonderful bloggers who are just a little quiet right now. Then there are those who are great bloggers by their interaction with other bloggers... their friendship. I was just saying to a friend yesterday that I have a wonderful contacts list. Most of those on my list are really good people and friends worth having : )

I found this video on a page I visited. Do watch it. I think it would be incredible if we could all turn to at least one person, acknowledge them and tell them how much we appreciate them... and why!

And to close... some reading for my photographer friends: Click here

1. I need to write
2. One thing at a time
3. I need to vacuum sooo badly
4. I need to make a call
5. Why is procrastination so easy?
6. Coming up with 10 remotely coherent thoughts is so much harder than it sounds
7. I wish people wouldn't mumble!!
8. Why can't life be simple?
9. It's a beautiful day outside
10. Telephones are not evil. Telephones are not evil. Telephones are not evil. Telephones are not evil. (Just trying to convince myself)

I made a long-procrastinated call to US Immigration (in the USA). I was terrified. I was also very impressed with the service. I went through the options to get to the right department and was immediately spoken to!! I wasn't put on hold for 2 hours... how refreshing! He was so helpful too and willing to take as many questions as I had. I hadn't expected that, so went prepared with too few questions. I will certainly call again when I need to.

I've been gone so long. It's just been crazy around here! Nah... I lie. I wish it had been crazy. Let me rephrase. I've been gone so long because I've been going crazy... or is it because I am crazy? No... don't answer that.

As you may remember, I was looking for my brothers. So far, I've come up with loads of dead ends. Then I figured that I'd try looking for people who may know how to find them or at least be 'on location' to find them, which sent me on a rollercoaster of memories. I started with Facebook. I have tried looking for some of these people before and come up blank. This time, I entered a name and there they were. I was suddenly finding heaps of people, from my best friend through primary school through to the best man at our wedding and many more. It was as though someone had switched on a light. This was both wonderful and terrifying. There are many memories and experiences I'd love to have gone without recalling. Contact with these people has brought all those to the fore again. Of course, not all have come back to me. A couple, I am sad about, but others I don't mind that much.

For so long, while living here in Brazil, it has bothered me that there are so few people in my life who have seen me face to face, who know me, and still consider a connection to me worthwhile. I regularly hear accounts of my friends getting together with each other and, while I am thrilled for those friends, I long to have the same thing, though I know it is out of the question for now. I became a little obsessed with the looking up of old friends. Here were people who have known me face to face, who have been with me through some... interesting times and who still accepted me. A few have even been glad to have made contact again. I was sitting here tonight though and thinking.... I can't go back. Going back is an illusion. I know that sounds weird to you, perhaps, but to me, it was something I had to face. I have to make friends with these people all over again, some easier than others, but so much has changed. We've all moved on. Any friendships I pick up now again would have to be built on as though new. I can't build on history. So I got my wish... in a way. I can't meet with a friend for coffee now, but I have had times where I've sat and talked over coffee or a glass of wine with a good friend. Those memories will have to carry me for a little while longer.

On the subject of 'a little while longer'... and going forward...
Many folk ask me whether I've had news on immigration yet. The answer is... if I had news, I'd have shouted it from the rooftops, so.... no. We have, I think, until at least the end of May to have heard about the last application. Not much time left, is there? I suppose I should say... well, there's always next year. We've said that every year so far. What's one more? I hate even thinking about that. Everything in life has a reason. There is a reason for this too. It will all work out.

In all, I was in something of a muddled funk... on a rollercoaster ride all of my own, so I haven't been terribly talkative. Balance has never been my strong point... balancing my moods, my activities, my various obsessions. I'm trying to find the balance now between new friends and old. I'm still here though...

Magical Meeting Place

The World came to me, I greeted the World
And the World allowed me to feel its pulse
Liken to a manifestation of fluttering butterflies,
Some would land and linger
To be caressed in their full beauty
And then released
Unharmed to continue their Sacred Journey
Our purpose fulfilled... for now.

~ Charles E. Guffey 1998 ~

Taken from Michelle's blog. Thank you for posting this, Michelle!

The Pledge for the Standing Women (see video below) reads...

Last May hundreds of thousands of women and girls, along with the men and boys they love, in 75 countries and on all continents of the world stood together in parks, on beaches, in churches, at graduation ceremonies, in their backyards and at school yards or anyplace they could find to stand in a global wave of humanity in support of a better world for our children.

We invite women and their families everywhere to take this "stand" with us again, on May 11 at 1pm local time for just 5 minutes, to rekindle the world with our common vision.

We stand for the world's children and grandchildren, and for the seven generations beyond them.
We dream of a world where all of our children have safe drinking water, clean air to breathe, and enough food to eat.
A world where they have access to a basic education to develop their minds and healthcare to nurture their growing bodies.
A world where they have a warm, safe and loving place to call home. A world where they don't live in fear of violence-in their home, in their neighborhood, in their school or in their world.
This is the world of which we dream.
This is the cause for which we stand.

To learn more and register your standing, go to the Standing Women website at http://www.standingwomen.org/

Let us all stand and send out positive energy together. Standing, thinking about the children, may seem like such a simplistic action to take, but I believe that the thoughts, prayers, wishes, energies of millions of women (and this isn't restricted to women) will make a difference... surely!

This week's theme had me. I live in a very solid world, aside from an abundance of spider's webs. I had another photo planned and was tempted to post both, but I'm meant to be sticking to the rules, right? *sigh*

This was taken right after some rain here, a highly unusual occurrence ; ) Yes, I am joking. Some critter or another had made a feast of Jorge's Queen of the Night and left just the veins.

Join in the fun at Picture Perfect.

Technorati Tags: picture-perfect,photography,gossamer

Sorry... this will be a long one. Like some other people I know, I seem incapable of short blogs. I did another high school quiz thing way back when. It's on 360, though, so good luck =/

There is a tag going around with questions relating to school. My reaction to a few of the questions was short and sweet... "Huh?" Schooling in so many ways was so different for me compared to, say, US and Canadian schools. I will do that quiz with that in mind, explaining what our schools were like. Note, I say 'were' because I can't speak for what South African schools are like now. For my South African friends... if I have forgotten something or gotten something wrong, feel free to jump in and let me know, especially if you're living in foreign lands and are familiar with the comparisons.

School, for us, was divided into two parts, Primary school and High school. Back when I started school, we had Sub A, Sub B... then Standards 1 - 5 in Primary School. High school consisted of Standards 6 - 10. Standard 10 was known as our Matric year. When Tatiana went to school, we were living in a different province and the school years were named grades, so she went from Grade 1 - 12... same number of years though.

Go to kindergarten? 
Kindergarten, to me, is the same as pre-school. It was very unusual for kids to go to kindergarten when I started school, so 'no'. I turned 5 in Sub A (grade 1) though.

Graduate from high school? 
Yes. Let's leave it at that. I wasn't exactly scholastic by that time.

Go to college? 
I am not sure what is meant by 'college'. I know it is somewhat different to our concept. When we completed our 12 years basic schooling, we had a choice of college or university. Those with sufficient grades could go to University. The 'lesser' grades could go to college. At college, you earned diplomas, as opposed to the degrees you earn at university.
No, I did not go to college. I went straight to work to help supplement my gran's pension. She had no additional income to support us.

Get straight A's in school? 
Until Standard 7 (grade 9), I was an A student... ok, more of a B student haha! In Std 8, I changed schools and went from an all English curriculum to an all Afrikaans curriculum. Although I was fluent in my mother tongue, I struggled with my subjects. It was also an emotional year for me (doesn't take much) and I slipped way down. I was sent back to an English school the next year, but never quite made it back up again.

Go to prom? 
Most schools only had one dance, the Matric dance, held just before you leave school. The boarding school I was at held a dance every term though (our year was divided into 4 school terms). At the end of the school career, we had the Matric dance, though and that was special. The entire event was planned and run by the Std 9's (grade 11's). Every Matric went. There was no missing it. Heck, we were in boarding school. That was our social life ; ) Just joking... even in regular school, it wasn't something one missed.

Take part in extracurricular?  
This one is easy. I was in choir all through school. Choir was my passion. I also took part in the SCA (Student's Christian Association), chess, debate and was librarian. I did drum majorettes in my first two years of high school, but gave that up, as I permanently had grazed knees, which didn't quite match the cutesy outfits we had to wear.

Play any school sports?
Tennis (I was quickly removed from the team, as I was either flat on my face or returning the ball to my partner when playing doubles), swimming (loved that!), hockey. Oddly enough, as long as I kept my stick away from other people's shins, I did fairly well with that.

Graduate in the top ten of your class?
Uh.... no. I was a very average student... never at the bottom, never at the top. I just muddled through school, much the way I muddle through life.

Miss a lot of school? 
Sadly, no. All  major events and illnesses were reserved for holidays and weekends *sigh* I think I missed a total of 4 days.

Have a favorite teacher?
Hm... I had a few. My Std 5 teacher, Miss Brown, was wonderful. She pushed us and challenged us to the hilt, preparing us very well for high school. We all loved her. In general, my English teacher in each year was probably my favourite. I was blessed with great English teachers.

Go to football games?
We had soccer and rugby. Soccer being the game with the round patchy ball and rugby being the barbaric, no protective clothing, game with the odd shaped ball. I would watch soccer only when there was some other activity I was desperate to avoid, but rugby watching held no interest for me. I'm not, nor was I ever, a sporty person.

Enjoy pep rallies?
I had no idea at all what a pep rally was, so I looked it up. That would have been our Interschool athletics. Those were obligatory to attend. I attended my last one in Std 6. What a fiasco. The school was meant to organise buses home for us and the organiser forgot our area. I walked most of the way home (we lived far from the school). I called my gran from a public phone on the way, so she wouldn't panic. My gran called the principle during his dinner and threatened him with the school board. It was 8pm. He was none too pleased, but personally went to fetch us all and take us home.

Know what you wanted to be when you grew up?
Yes, I wanted to be a social worker.

Pack your lunch or buy?
Packed... until I got to boarding school where we had a sit-down lunch.

Like gym class?
We called it PT (Physical training or torture, depending on who was using the term). Blegh... yuck... eeew! I was neither athletic nor flexible. Any excuse would do. Trouble is, I was as bad at coming up with excuses as I was at athletics.

Have a bunch of friends in school?
Nope... I generally had one good friend, possibly two. I wasn't Miss Popular by any stretch of the imagination.

Fit into a clique like jock, stoner, geek, etc? 
I'm not cliquey at all. I was never in a clique... usually the one on the outside looking in, though, to be honest, I was content with my one or two friends. I'm not a group-type person. I did often wonder what it took to be accepted though.

Have a nickname in school?
In primary school, they knew they could get me really mad by calling me Corrie. One girl took particular delight in doing that. I blogged about her once. I'll be darned if I can find that blog. I didn't really have nicknames in high school, thank goodness... either that, or they were so ghastly, I have blocked them from memory. So much of my past is one huge grey area.

Get picked on in school?  
Well, I was slow, the class klutz, often teacher's pet, and I was 'different'. Sure I got picked on. I had a particularly select group of tormentors. Funny, I could stand up to teachers who picked on me, but not kids.

Have a favorite subject?
English and art (Yes, I know that is two... I ignore all numbers issues at best)

Have a least favorite subject? 
Maths and History! I was relatively good at Maths up to Std 7 (grade 9), then the ship sunk. History was ruined for me in Std 6 by a *insert foul word* teacher who took delight in getting the girls to stand on a chair and kiss Hitler's photo. In Std 9, an old hag who was to teach us asked me if I liked History on my first day in her class. I answered 'no' (being honest 'n all). She replied, "I think you're in the wrong class then." She was a fanatic. I agreed with her, packed up and went to change my class to art. Best move I ever made.

Go to graduation?
Graduation for us was during school time, so yes, everyone went, though for us, it was just a service where the school said goodbye. There was no going onto the platform to collect certificates or anything.
Have a crush on anyone in school?
I had a crush, but he wasn't in school. Dang, we do stupid things sometimes!

Go to any class reunions?
I went to one. It was a waste of time... totally, except for one thing. I learnt that I was just as good as any of them in my own way and I no longer had a need of the clique. In fact, the clique was no longer remotely appealing. Some of the girls who snubbed me had actually done quite badly for themselves.

Whew.... you made it through that? Hm... others posted photos of them in the 80's. Want a photo of boring? This was taken at one of the school dances.

A blog by my friend, Kippy... Click on the link to see more photos!

A Killer's Killers ...
Apr 25, '08 7:38 PM

I just came upon a set of 20 photos ... they are of some of the pit bulls rescued from Michael Vick's "kennel".
(photo by Eric Risberg for The AP)
With wet eyes and a lump in my throat I have absolutely nothing to say but .. awesome.

This morning, shortly after we got up, Jorge said to Tatiana, "Oh, Ana called for you."

Startled, Tat answered, "Who's Ana?"

"How must I know? Call her anyway," he replied, handing her the piece of paper with the name and number.

Tat ambled over to the phone. "Ugh! Mom! Look at this!" She pointed to the name, 'Ana Conda'.

"That is probably just your dad's idea of a joke," I said. "Call her anyway."

Tat is a good girl and listens to her parents.... sometimes. She called...

I tried hard now to remember her reaction, but Tat suggested that it wasn't repeatable. It went along the lines of... "Argh! What the.... DAD!!" Yes, that was a more simplistic version.

Why all the fuss? The number was to the local zoo. Naturally. Where else would Ana Conda live?

 

With this theme, you get a little peek into my world, or should I say, out of it. I took this photo sitting at my computer. The window next to me was open. The photo I took was of the reflection in the window and our neighbour hanging out her laundry and, yes, the security bars too. Every door and window here has security bars. Before we moved in, the people who lived here had been burgled three times in as many months. Everything had been stolen. We took no chances. We would move in on condition the owner improved security. Between the bars and our dogs, I guess we're safe enough.
So this week, I don't have a very aesthetically pleasing photo. I came up with bars, bars, and more bars. I have photos of some lovely bars and fences, if something like that can be called lovely, but they're not very original as photos. Perhaps this photo will also give you an idea of why I crave wide open spaces...
Do visit Picture Perfect to play along! While I think about it, you can see another choice I had for today's theme here.

I have proved it conclusively.

As some of you know, I have been trying to get fit... to my downfall, of course... quite literally. Trouble is, I tend to tackle things with gusto. If there's a new anything to be learnt, I climb in, boots and all and learn it. If I take on a new hobby, I never start small. I jump in at the deep end and either sink or swim. I have always held to the belief that if you're going to do something, do it with gusto and with gusto is the way I go.... down.

I have been feeling rather energetic. Actually, that is a lie. I have not been particularly energetic, as I've been sleeping badly, but, thanks to the exercise I have been getting, when I have been on the move, I have not been as out of breath as before. Last night, we needed some bread to go with our soup. I offered to dash up to the bakery, two blocks away. The air was cool... lovely... so I skipped out of the yard and prepared to run up. I had hardly gone half a block, when I found myself airborne.
You know that old expression, "The bigger they are the harder they fall"? As I was telling a friend, I came down like a felled Redwood. We live on a very busy road, a thoroughfare between two major roads. This was right in the heart of peak hour. Need an audience? I will find one. I think the ground vibrations stopped traffic. One biker pulled up next to me and asked if I need the hospital. It is worthy of note here that he didn't get off his bike to help me up from my nose-to-the-ground position. "No, no," I assured him, wishing the ground would do its job and swallow me up. After all, it must have been a huge hole in the ground to make me trip like that, right? Another one of the milling passers by helped me to my feat (deliberate typo... that was a Feat). Thank goodness for the dark. They couldn't see my red face.

Now, I'm weird. I usually, at this point, try to pretend nothing has happened, so I took a few wonky steps in the direction of the bakery. Then I looked up and saw the crowd in the doorway of the pub across the road and the people buzzing in and out of the bakery further ahead. Memories of the queues at this time of the night and the curiosity of the natives made me back off. No way could I face that, so I hobbled home.

At this point, Tat took over as chief nurse in residence. Jorge went to the pub to fetch some bread. On his return, "Did you trip over that crack in the sidewalk outside so-and-so's house?"  Poor delusional man. No matter how much I told him it was a crater, he just missed the point entirely. Truth is, it doesn't take more than a hairline crack to topple this biped. I think I will just stick to walking in future. We all know I can't run to save my life *sigh*