An Eish Frame of Mind

by ⋅ Leave a Comment ⋅ Aside

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you use an expression that fits perfectly, but isn’t part of the local vernacular? A word or phrase that you’ve picked up somewhere, perhaps when living in another country or from popular culture/friends/associates?

Most often when I find myself doing so, the context makes the meaning apparent to others – even if the word/phrase isn’t in a language they’re familiar with. Sometimes, though, I get an odd look – admittedly this is usually when I make some obscure exclamation out loud to myself in public.

For example, when I try to carry too many things at once and end up dropping something… as often as not I end up exclaiming something along the lines of ‘Ja, jy wil mos!’ Unless another ex-South African is around, this sort of exclamation generally results in variations of the odd look. I guess I could use the English equivalent, but somehow it doesn’t feel as though it means the same thing. When I say ‘Jy will mos!, what I mean is Oh, come on, you knew that was stupid, but you would just go and do it anyway, wouldn’t you?’ And, seriously, who says something like that to themselves in the heat of the moment? 🙂

This use of random wordage came to mind earlier in the week, on one of my increasingly rare free-from-puppy-duties days. I’d crammed the day full of appointments, gym visits, shopping and so forth – racing from one to the other in order to get everything done before picking Cassie up from the vet after her sterilisation procedure.

CassieMolly_nap time

provitaOne of my stops was at the local Tastes of Africa shop, to pick up some of my favourite crackers (Provita) and to enjoy a vetkoek lunch. For those who have no idea what that is, vetkoek (pronounced fet-cook) is a traditional South African bread product made from yeast-based dough, shaped into medium-sized balls and then deep-fried. The result is something rather like a bread roll, but crispy on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside. You then add your preferred filling and eat it piping hot. I chose to go all traditional and have mine filled with delicious savoury mince, chutney and grated cheese. So much yum in every mouthful!

But I digress…

Having placed my order, I took my table number over to my chosen seat. When I put it down on the table I had to laugh out loud – the table numbers are all South African expressions or place names, and mine expressed to perfection in one word my general take on the day.

EishEish is another weird South Africanism – it encapsulates exasperation, disbelief, resignation – and a whole bunch more. It’s not a word I used when I lived there, but I found that I picked it up when travelling around Tasmania with my brother last November. He uses it quite a lot as we had a number of eish-moments, many ending in laughter. Perhaps that’s why it’s embedded itself in my vocab and made me smile over my (very tasty) lunch. Nostalgia’s a funny old thing.

Thinking about this later, I realised that there are quite a few random expressions in my lexicon: some Afrikaans-based ones from my childhood, some Yiddish from my high school years and so forth. This is just the start of the list and it’s by no means comprehensive, but it may help people who experience my occasional odd comments / outbursts in public places 😛

  • Aarde Genade (good heavens!) – actually a combination of earth+mercifulness, which makes no sense at all!
  • Oy vey (dismay) – a lot of this at high school
  • Chuzpah (cheek/gall) – and a fair bit of this too
  • Great Zot! (good grief!) – BC comic meme from my youth
  • Padkos (travel provisions) – literally: road food
  • Klutz! (clumsy twit) – usually what I say to myself immediately after saying Jy wil mos…
  • Jy wil mos (yeah, well, you would go and do it, wouldn’t you)
  • Muchas gracias (thanks heaps) – one of the few Spanish phrases I retained after our visit in 2007
  • Now now (soonish) – this one confuses the locals regularly 🙂
  • Oh my giddy aunt! (amazement) – I blame my friend Vicki for this one!

Trip down memory lane

by ⋅ 2 Comments ⋅ Aside

On a recent rainy afternoon (rather like today) I went hunting for something to read. As always, I had heaps of must-reads cluttering up my bedside table –  but none of them appealed. They all seemed too weighty or too complicated. Basically none of them fitted what I was after… so I went trawling through our library for something that felt right.  What I found was our remaining three Dick Francis paperbacks.

Dick Francis novels

I don’t remember when exactly started reading Dick Francis thrillers, but it was sometime in my teens. What I do remember is just how much I loved them. The writing style was clear and clever, the protagonists easy to identify with, and the detail on all aspects of the racing world intensely believable. I also remember that I was both surprised and gratified to discover that Dick Francis was a retired champion jockey. No wonder his words seemed to hold the ring of authenticity!

Over the years I’ve continued to read his books, some from the public library, some from stock – and even buying them from second-hand bookshops when on holiday. The man was a prolific writer, producing over 40 novels, along with an autobiography and the official biography of racing legend Lester Piggott. It’s been fun to discover and rediscover his version of the racing world each time I’ve delved into one of them.

Not long ago, we swapped many of our paper copies for eBook versions – and I confess I do miss those well-thumbed old paperbacks. Even so, Kindle in hand, I’ve romped through Banker, Bolt and Come to Grief over the past few days – revelling the adventures of Kit Fielding, Sid Halley and Tim Ekaterin, all top blokes and very dashing protagonists.

It’s been a bit like coming home after being away for ages – the feeling that I’m reacquainting myself with people I’ve half forgotten but who’s company I enjoy each time we meet up. I’m looking forward to spending time with Neil Griffon in Bonecrack next, then Gene Hawkins in Bloodsport. I’ve got the rest queued and ready to go – and if the rainy weather persists, I may make it through them all 🙂

Have you read any? If not, you could try your local library for a taster – it really doesn’t matter in which order you read them.

Resilience and Gingerbread

by ⋅ Leave a Comment ⋅ Aside

What builds resilience in individuals – and what diminishes the capacity for resilience? I’ve been thinking about this a bit over the last few weeks whilst trying to manage the turbulence that is life-with-puppies.

First of all, what is resilience? Well, it’s generally considered to be the capacity individuals have to cope with difficulties/stress, ranging from personal tragedy or trauma to issues at home/in the workplace, financial pressures or health problems. The more resilience you have, the better you are at rolling with the punches that life throws at you, dusting yourself off and carrying on.

Different people cope with similar situations very differently, and sometimes even those who appear quite resilient in one set of circumstances may be very vulnerable in others. However, experience and observation (very unscientific, I know, but there you go) has shown me that resilience is an attribute that can both be learned and expanded upon with use. The key seems to be to try to avoid being overly change-averse. Or, to put it another way, to focus on having a flexible outlook.

I’ve found that honing my capacity to manage change has in turn made me more able to notice and manage stress when it arises, to think positively and even to learn new skills. That, combined with support from loved ones and a good night’s sleep makes an enormous difference in coping with vagaries of life.

But building resilience takes work and, at times, it can seem insurmountably difficult to achieve. Indeed, after multiple dog dramas and two emergency vet runs in as many weeks, my personal resilience capacity sank to what felt like an all time low. It happens. But T and I managed to accommodate the dramas, move through the emotional responses and, if not bounce back, exactly, at least totter back from the outcomes.

And each time we manage to bounce back – no matter how slowly we do it – we’re better equipped to do so the next time something comes up. We’re building our resilience without even realising it. We certainly know where our local emergency vet practice is located now and that Thursday nights is their busiest time!

Today we rewarded ourselves for surviving another puppy-infested-drama-laden-week with… gingerbread. We all need to be looked after and sometimes self-nurturing is the most useful gift we can give ourselves. Today, that gift is gingerbread. Lots of tasty gingerbread. I feel significantly more resilient with every slice 🙂

Nik’s Gingerbread Recipe

I’ve made this gingerbread loaf countless times over the past 30+ years. It’s never failed to be soft, moist and absolutely delicious. It’s dead easy to make and freezes well – and if you slice it beforehand, you get to have a treat a day for as many days as there are slices. This recipe makes two medium sized loaves or one really big one. Plan accordingly 🙂

Set the oven to 180C (350F). Line two medium-sized loaf pans with foil; lightly coat the foil with oil/butter.

3 cups plain flour , 1-cup sugar (I prefer raw sugar, but use whatever sort you like), 3 teaspoons ginger, pinch of salt, 2 teaspoons mixed spice, 1 teaspoon baking power, 1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda – mixed with 1/4 cup of water, 1-cup oil, 3 eggs. 1-cup golden syrup (or treacle, if you prefer – both work), 1-cup lukewarm water

Mix all the ingredients together in a large bowl. Pour the mix into the prepared loaf pans. Bake for approximately 55 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the middle comes out clean. Cool on a wire rack for about 10 minutes or so before turning out. Serve warm or cold – and with butter if you like it that way.

Note: if you bake this in one LARGE loaf pan (as I did today), then it’s a good idea to drop the temp to about 160-170 — it takes longer, but the top won’t get that interesting darker-than-dark shade and super-delicious crunchy bits 😛

Stories by Candlelight

by ⋅ Leave a Comment ⋅ Aside

Last week I was privileged to attend an event entitled Recovery Stories by Candlelight, as part of the WAAMH Conference, held in Kings Park over two days.

The story event was the culmination of many weeks of preparation, during which 20 individuals took part in a series of professional storytelling workshops. Nine people were selected at the end to be part of the live performance evening, telling their stories of the lived experience of recovery from mental illness.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The evening started with (delicious!) gourmet paella, made in ginormous pans, followed by a selection of decadent desserts. The Spirit of the Steets Choir then took the stage and performed four songs.  A few of the choir members shared their own stories of recovery through music, each of which was touching and heartfelt.

Then we got the featured stories – nine brave and amazing people who shared their hurt, struggle and determination to live life as fully as possible. The challenges that each individual had faced – that many still face – and the way they were articulated, left me speechless. These included coping with PTSD, postnatal psychosis, chronic anxiety, depression, alcoholism, drug abuse, self-harm, schizoaffective disorders and eating disorders. The evening was an emotional roller coaster, many of the stories moving me to tears.

Stories unify us, providing us with insights – not only into the lives and experiences of others, but into our own complicated (and often unaddressed) issues. It’s often the spoken word, the heard and remembered stories that have the greatest impact.

Things I thought, en route home afterwards:

  • Humans are fragile
  • Wounded storytellers sharing their journey of healing wield power to shape the world around them
  • People need to be kind to themselves. Life can be a struggle and your inner you might make the difference to your survival.
  • We need to accept that whilst aspiring to more in life is fine, stepping back and being grateful for what is has value too
  • Take stock and be grateful – that you (I) have enough, whether it’s enough to eat, enough love, enough energy or enough strength

Thank you, WAAMH, for hosting this powerful event. Thank you, brave and beautiful Karen, for inviting me to share it with you.

recovery2

 

Learning to ask

by ⋅ 2 Comments ⋅ Aside

Neil Gaiman  is one of my favourite authors. I find his stories captivating, and the audio versions – read by him – are a delight. So when I came across a memoir/manifesto by Amanda Palmer, I bought it simply because she and Neil are a couple. Yup – fangirl – I admit it.

gaiman and palmer_Screen-Shot-2015-11-02-at-8.50.29-AM

The other reason I bought the The Art of Asking was that the title caught my attention.  It’s catchy and I was curious as to what this punk-cabaret, folk singing, ukele-playing, quirky artist had to say.

In order to relate to Amanda and her story more personally – and order to hear her voice and her music – I got it as an audio book. I also tracked down her very popular  Ted talk  (as have about 7,732,843 other people!), and gained the following insights from the combination:

  • Amanda is a great story teller, has worked hard to be a successful artist, and has a strong fanbase.
  • I’m not crazy about her music, but find the lyrics thought provoking and often very moving.
  • Audio books are fabulous – especially when read by the author 🙂
  • Direct interaction between the fanbase and artists, with fans deciding how much they’re prepared to / able to pay for merchandise of various sorts is the way forward. To quote Amanda, “I think people have been obsessed with the wrong question, which is, How do we make people pay for music? What if we started asking, How do we let people pay for music?”  Whilst no longer new, this a terrific (although underutilized) concept and one with which I wholeheartedly agree – but more on that another time.
  • Finally, the core topic of the book: it’s important to learn to ask for help – not demand it or expect it to magically arrive.

Amanda’s story of the difficulties and successes she’s had in this area is an excellent vehicle to get this last point across. She talks about the ongoing struggle with allowing herself to be helped and, more specifically, with asking for help as a constant negotiation between ego and need.

Her solution is to trust, both in herself and others, and to allow herself to “give and receive fearlessly”. It’s sound advice – but it still left me pondering why I often find asking for help so darn difficult.

mumMy siblings and I were raised by an uber-Mum. We loved, respected and, to some extent, feared her. She was a strong woman in a time when being a strong woman meant survival. She never asked for help, she just got on with things and bent the world to suit her. She didn’t acknowledge fear and  appeared completely invulnerable.  At least this is what our childish perspective led us to believe, and this belief shaped the people we became.

Years later it occurred to me that my mother simply didn’t have the leisure to allow herself to sit back, or the opportunity to seek out emotional support. She worked hard to make our lives comfortable, navigating her way around an unreliable spouse, frequent upheavals as he changed jobs/towns/directions, a gaggle of children, an alienated extended family, a full time job and a very limited income.

Unfortunately, what it took far longer for me to understand is that never asking for help tends to make people appear unapproachable. No-one wants to risk offering help if it’s going to be brusquely rejected. And no-one wants to ask such a person for help for fear of being judged as inadequate in some way. It effectively isolates people from one another.

As a society we are enculturated to believe that asking for help reveals weakness, neediness, incompetence – or all three. We fear being perceived as selfish. We fear that asking for help might result in us incurring a debt that we will be called on at some future date. We fear loss of control. We fear.

We meander through life, sometimes directionless, sometimes with a plan. In many instances we really could do with a helping hand, a willing ear, a visit from a friend, a small kindness to ease the load we carry. But we don’t ask. We soldier on – fearful, or not wishing to impose a burden on others, or too proud to show our vulnerabilities.

Mum did eventually lean on us a little when she became too ill to manage alone. It was only then that she allowed her vulnerability to be glimpsed. Did she think we’d see it as weakness, that we’d think less of her? This was so very far from the truth. Instead, my admiration and respect for my mother grew exponentially. Every shadow brought her more clearly into focus, allowed me to get to know her a little better.

Nevertheless, my mother’s carefully controlled vulnerability has continued to influence my choices. Fortunately I’ve had the leisure to make different choices and to make them far earlier.  It comes down to being acknowledging the baggage and then setting it aside,  a bit at a time. Then work towards falling into trust by asking for, accepting and offering help graciously when it’s needed. After all, who will ask me for help if I allow fear or pride (ego) to – actively or passively – send out the message that asking equals weakness?

It’s my hope that my children find this process of allowing people to help them, to care for them and to share with them a less complex one than I did. It’s also my hope that my siblings have managed to find their own way through this shared socially constructed minefield. It’s never too late to learn to ask for help – in big or small ways.