Tag Archives: singing and music

The eviction……..


Today a bad thing happened. I knew it might, but I had to chance it as only a mother would. I had to give my little girl the chance to take part and enjoy a musical show. So there we sat and she shrieked a few times and made a few guttural sounds with excitement.First song, second song, snickering and turned heads from the other kids to see where the noise was coming from, and then there she was, the female teacher from the Drakensberg Boys Choir, asking me if I could take my child out? Now, before you get all huffy about this, let me make something clear. She said it very nicely and kindly. But it hurt. It still hurt me and I felt humiliated for my Molly and for myself.

I knew she might be noisy, but as a mother I had to expose her to the music. You see it’s all to easy to keep her away from everybody, it’s easier for me. But what about Molly? But I know now, that she can’t do everything other kids do. There are limitations. I discovered that today. It was a lesson I had to go through as her mother. I had to give her a chance too.

Fortunately Seko, Molly’s nanny, and I had discussed a game plan if this did happen and so I looked at Seko, who nodded her head in understanding, and off she toddled with Molls down the stairs. I sat there, childless, a friend who’d joined me earlier had witnessed the expulsion of my noisy cerebral palsy child, promptly burst into tears. Now, I don’t know why, but it FKED me off completely. Who is she to pity my child? How dare she make me feel worse by crying tears of pity? So there I sat, humiliated, feeling bad at Melanie crying next to me, feeling bad for the woman who had the bad luck at having to turf Molly out, angry at God for making me feel like this, angry at Molly for putting me through this, and I sat with bottom lip quivering and eyes welling up with tears. I physically restrained myself from crying, smiled and clapped like mad and enthusiastically at the performance.

You see if I’d cried, everyone around me would have felt bad and it would have been everyone’s day spoiled. Not just mine. So God knows where I drew the strength from. I forced my down-turned lips upwards, concentrated on the performance on stage and by sheer will and determination behaved normally.

Truth be told, I love my child. Molly is my daily blessing. God chose well by making me her mother. I’m strong and I have a sizable pair of balls.  But phew, it’s hard sometimes. It’s hardest to smile at everyone around you while your heart is weeping silently in your chest.

I’m tired now.


gifts and hobbies and observations………


A few years ago, when the BBC cooking channel was the height of every South African’s entertainment, John made a very valid observation:” Looks like every Twot and his wok is making a cooking programme!”  Too true. It seemed like it at the time.

Then we went through the Afrikaans music video stage. Every Afrikaans person that could afford(and some that used home video’s too) was making a music video. Pan in swaying blades of grass in time to the music, or a hot blond, with tits out and hot pants, with her granny’s ’60’s suitcase standing with her thumb out on a deserted, allegedly, Karroo gravel road. Next thing a clapped old Beetle would pull up(with CA number plates) and the singer would get out and they would dance or cry in the road together. theoretically speaking, this could never happen. I know ‘coz I owned a beetle. It would be a miracle in itself if a Beetle could drive from Cape Town to any distance further than 3 hours away. That was the Afrikaans music phase.

Now we seem to be going through a, what I affectionately like to call: “Every Twot and his lens phase.” Everyone spending 7 grand or more on a camera and then calling themselves a photographer. All rightee then. We see it on Facebook everyday. Copyright on the left hand side of the photo. Name of the person detracting from the image. Too me, no expert at all, I think the genius in photography, is in the subtlety. Not in the glaringly obvious. or contrived. Very few people have the eye for this. Nine times out of ten, the great photographer themselves is an observer and not a talker. The quiet listener.

But all these creative forms are healthy. Keeps you off the Espiride. Keeps you out of mischief.

But in all art forms, I must admit, I hate anything contrived. A wonderful photo can bring tears to my eyes. I’m going to give you 2 links to follow, of two wonderful photographers. Well, I think they’re great and they make my life richer from the stories their photo’s tell.

‘Till later then: