Long passages

Yesterday, I somehow managed to stumble upon something I'm not sure I really wanted to stumble upon. The blog of somebody from a long ago time. A boy I loved deeply and, possibly very youth-tintedly many, many moons ago. Someone I have not had contact with for years (not purposefully, it just worked out like that). I felt a little voyeuristic, like I was reading his diary while he was out of his bedroom.

It just happened. I wasn't looking for it, it was just suddenly there. Obviously it didn't just appear on my screen but, like I said, I stumbled upon it and, being the curious thing I am, there was no way that I couldn't click on the link. Of course not! So I wandered through the back corridors of time and The Ether. You know the ones - they're long and sometimes dark, sometimes lit by a candle attached to the wall, and there are literally hundreds of doors through which one can hear familiar sounds - voices that comfort, laughter sometimes, crying other times and behind some doors, a strange hush. It is along those corridors that you walk and stop to listen, itching to open the doors, but knowing you probably shouldn't.

Anyway, I digress. The whole thing freaked me out a bit because, as I've whinged repeatedly (see here, and here), I am so very unsure of the whole availability of this blog thing and it's lack of privacy. I do realise that that's the whole point and that it is, intrinsically, why I am forcing myself to do this, but... It just reiterated that, as I can easily stumble onto other people's blogs, so can they, onto mine. Thus my keeping my name off this, even though all three of you who read this know who I am anyway.

I really am waffling aren't I? (Mmm, waffles, yum). I think my point is, um, okay, I don't have one. I just needed to write about that. You see, there is a whole story here, in fact probably a few, but the privacy thing makes me not want to write it. God forbid I feel exposed. Oh, blegh.

In other news, I received the most hysterical e-mail from Stalkbook this morning. It deserves it's own post though so I'll get onto it later hopefully. It's raining so, logically, that means I should write more. Don't question my logic. It's just the way it is.

I wonder if they make waffles at the canteen at Real Work?

Just a few calls, and another letter

It happened again! I got an e-mail offering me something I really (really!) don't need. For a mere R600, I can attend a morning seminar presented by Dr Blude (a doctor? of?) on how to use a telephone effectively. Wrong target audience my friend, if there's one thing I'm an expert in, it's how to use a telephone. Not only is it a big part of my Real Job, but on a personal level, let's just say I pass Cum Laude. Maybe I could become Dr Shiny, telephonist extraordinaire and be Dr Jude's sidekick, for a small fee.

It warranted, of course, a letter:

My Dear Dr Blude,

Thank you so much for your kind offer to teach me how to use my telephone effectively for such a small amount of money. You must struggle to make ends meet charging R600 to, what... fifty people at a time for a three-and-a-half hour session. It seems very charitable of you. However, I think somebody gave you my e-mail address in error as I am, completely and utterly, NOT your target group.

My relationship with my telephone is highly effective, and efficient too (I know you business types and your 'efficiency this, efficacy that'). I shall try to explain to you why this is so, as I would hate to hurt your feelings unnecessesarily. Let me use yesterday as an example.

During the day, at Real Work, I spoke to twenty seven (give or take one or two) health professionals regarding (give or take) thirty different questions. Some I spoke to and gave information immediately, others I called back. At no stage during any of these interactions did I struggle to answer, speak or dial, luckily as it would have been most unprofessional. Between these calls, I also spoke to my sister (She's having twins you know, it's terribly exciting) and my mother. I had no trouble with those either, except a small disagreement with my mother about a lasagne recipe, but I think I can put that down to mother-daughter dynamics, rather than a lack of telephone skills.

After Real Work and doing a couple of things, I received a call from H in London who regaled some fabulous stories involving the couple of boys who are admiring her presently and a heavy-breathing phone call she'd received (perhaps I should forward on your e-mail to him). We laughed a lot, but again I didn't struggle. Then I got a call from L in Worcester who has just returned from Australia and is agonising over a big decision she needs to make. No problems with my phone skills there, just a problem with a certain someone which, really has nothing to do with telephones at all.

Then I got a call from M, regarding drinks after work tomorrow. Again, just a venue issue, no telephone skill problems. And I realise, at this point, you may be saying: "Well, yes, we can see you can effectively receive calls, but can you make them?" Luckily, I did, at that point call I, in The Big Smoke, and had a lovely, long chat with him, no problems. While it took me two times to get through - my phone dialled and then went quiet the first two times - I have a feeling this was a network problem, and nothing to do with my phone skills.

So, yes, I think I've probably got my point across that, while I'm grateful for your kind offer, I have to decline. Should you need some expert input, though, I could probably make myself available (at a fee, I guess, you being a business-type and all. I hear offering help in the business world for free diminishes your value - WTF? - but I shan't bore you with my views on that as I'm sure you're a terribly busy man and I seem to have written a very long letter already).

Oh, but before I go, just a small suggestion - the design of your e-mail is not terribly exciting. I know a great designer who could help you out with that - it may increase your readership - just a thought. If you'd like his details, let me know.

With love,
Shiny x

I may even have left out a couple of other calls I made during the day. Good grief, perhaps I need a course on using my phone less effectively?

Counting and travelling

I have one of those little counter thingamies on this blog, and a live feed thingamy. The live feed thingamy fascinates me completely - it tells you where people who stumble onto your blog come from. And it's amazing to see. I am, admittedly, very much a Geography girl - always loved it, it's genetic. But, also, it fills me with curiosity. Who are they?

Like, there's a regular visitor from Harrismith. I don't know anyone in Harrismith. I love that. And it is, of course, a huge ego boost to see that Harrismith comes to visit fairly regularly. It's that human desire for resassurance I guess, shining through in little anonymous Blogland.

But also, I'm a Google Girl. In fact, I may even go so far as to claim to being The Google Girl or, at least, a poster girl for Google. I love it. And now, in combination with my live feed thingamy, and my fascination with geography, I'm finding all sorts of places I'd never heard of before. Like Klaipeda - a Lithuanian city situated at the mouth of the Curonian Lagoon, where it flows into the Baltic Sea. The Teutonic knights built a castle there. Teutonic knights? Dudes who got together to help the Christians on their pilgrimages to the Holy Land and to establish hospitals to care for the sick and injured. And so on - then I get lost in a web of Googling.

How the person in Klaipeda found my blog, however, remains a mystery but does, of course, make me itch with curiosity. Point being, I love these little internet tools, and my counter thingamy turned 1000 yesterday so I thought it worth a little mention.

Excuse me though, I need to go and see where the Curonian Lagoon is...

Birthday balloons and another letter

So, it's my friend, C's, birthday today. She lives around the corner from me. Well, to be precise - down the road, around the corner, past the kid's school with the animals painted kiddilly on the wall (I love the lion - rowr!), around another corner, some more steps, then another corner, over the stop street, and you're there, at her front door. Important information, that.

Not that that has anything to do with my story, it’s just setting the scene really. The point is, it’s her birthday and she gets a bit stressy about birthdays. Winnie the Pooh once said, very wisely: “Nobody can be uncheered with a balloon.”

And it is for that, exact reason (I am a Winnie-the-Poohist), that I found myself in the car watching the neighbours peer through their window, watching me watch them, in the dark at 6:10am this morning, while a balloon got tied to her gate. Keep in mind that this is South Africa, and there tends to be a certain amount of suspicion due to a slightly worrying crime rate. I decided it deserved a letter.

Dear C’s Neighbour (the boy one, not the girl one),

While I can completely understand that possibly a strange car parked outside your house at 6am in the morning when the stars are still bright, may elicit a startled response in you, can I make one small suggestion? Two words: dressing gown.

There are some really nice dressing gowns, at a number of stores at The Big Shopping Mall down the road (I saw them while baby-shopping for my sister last week - she's having twins - I'll be a double aunty! Let me not stray from the point, though). Alternatively, there are even cheaper ones at the factory shops in the other direction – I can completely understand not wanting to waste well-earned cash on such frivolities. But do get one. Your girlfriend/wife/girl-you-brought-home-last-night’s two piece pyjama set is really sweet, but your outfit of ill-fitting shorts and NOTHING ELSE was a little too much for me at 6am.

It’s just that I think you’d look very fetching in a lovely dressing gown. I’d even be happy to come with you to pick one out. You know, just in case somebody parks outside your house in the dark at 6am to tie a red balloon to one of your neighbour’s gates again and you wish to pull back your curtain to peer out. These things do happen, apparently.

With much neighbourhood love,
Shiny.

So, yes. I was very glad to be up so early though, as The Weatherman provided a spectacular breakfast show this morning – lightening and thunder, served up with the most beautiful, brilliant pink sky and clouds as the sun rose over the mountains on the other side across Cape Town which I got to see from my perch up here on the fifth floor. Incredible.

And then I have a fabulous, Mexican, birthday celebration to look forward to, to celebrate with C this evening. Life is good when one has the prospect of frozen margarita's and lots of friends celebrating a birthday after work.

Should dressing gowns be made law I wonder?

Shopping for babies

I went baby shopping on Saturday. That sounds wrong. I didn't go shopping for babies, but for very tiny clothes that you put on babies. Although there did seem to be a lot of babies around - on peoples hips, in little prams, toddling around on the floor. I don't think they were for sale though... they each seemed to be attached to an adult of some kind (honestly though, some of the adults looked very young). So, yes, I went looking for tiny articles of clothing to put on little beings. Because, as I've mentioned before, I am to be a double aunty soon and it's terribly exciting!

I thought it'd be simple. I was wrong - it's confusing. I was amazed by the whole thing - did you know that buying clothes for tiny babies is an exceedingly complicated process? Who'd have thought? Certainly not me. I had a list of things from my sister, I even printed it out, in case (thank god). It had things like body vests, sleep suits and rompers on it. I paid it little attention until I got into the shop filled with rows and rows of tiny articles of clothing.

I'll just use the body vests as an example. Bodyvests, said the list, the one's that close with press studs between the legs. Okay, sounded simple. I'd just go to the newborn section and take four off the rack. Well, not so - bodyvests are divided, firstly into long- or short-sleeved. Easy enough - babies born in July need long-sleeved. So I reached for those. But wait! Some have legs, other's are shorties. Again, July - long-legged. Right, we're on the money now. Nope - green, white, pink, yellow, little aliens or little cars? Good grief.

And then - rompers and sleep suits - what? There's a difference? Needless to say, I oohed and aahed at the cuteness of everything and bought a whole little clothing line basically, including socks which look like finger puppets they're so small (and I mean finger puppets for children-sized fingers). I left the shop fully expecting to have bags and bags of stuff. It all fitted in one - it's incredible to think that there will be two little enough creatures to fit into them. Amazing.

And that was just the first shop.

Untitled

Good grief, I am such a bundle of joy, aren't I? Melancholy came over to visit and invaded ALL my space. And by that, I mean that she took it so far as to push herself into my ears and up my nose and even insisted on flowing in under my bathroom door while I showered. There was no escaping her. She's not gone either, she's like a bulldog this one. But I'm choosing to acknowledge her and have banished her to a corner for now. She's glowering at me from there. I'm hoping if I ignore her for long enough she'll slink away to hang with her friends elsewhere.

I mean, really, when did inviting Melancholy in for a drink and a slice of cake ever do anyone any good?

Hollowed

So, say you were sitting inside a completely empty milk truck, and someone was throwing stones at the truck. That sound that you’d hear each time a stone hit the outer shell of the truck… that’s the sound you’d hear if you made a noise into my ear, any noise. And the problem is, it's locked from the outside. Really, really tightly.