An Obituary

I have been spring cleaning (well, it is spring in the UK, Europe, USA, Asia and Canada) and have not had time for blogging. However, someone sent me this obituary and I thought I'd like to share it. This seems so accurate to me and I wonder who else in Bloggerland will agree.

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.

He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:

- Knowing when to come in out of the rain;

- Why the early bird gets the worm;

- Life isn't always fair;

- and maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge). His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of

-a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate;

-teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch;

-and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student,

only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death,

-by his parents, Truth and Trust,

-by his wife, Discretion,

-by his daughter, Responsibility,

-and by his son, Reason.

He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers;

-I Know My Rights,

-I Want It Now,

-Someone Else Is To Blame

-and I'm A Victim

I am an African

The South African people went to the polls this past Wednesday for the fourth time since 1994 and no surprise to anybody, on 9 May Jacob Zuma will be sworn in as the new President of South Africa. A new chapter has begun in the history of South Africa. What the story will tell is anybody's guess... we can only hope and pray.

I cannot close the previous chapter without honouring our previous President, Mr Thabo Mbeki,. (Not Mr Matlanthe, who was only a stand in for Jacob Zuma.) Of course I have not agreed with everything he said and did ("AIDS is not caused by HIV!") but I admired him for his gentlemanly ways and his eloquent and beautiful speeches. On 8 May 1996, before he became president of South Africa, Mr Thabo Mbeki made a very special speech in Parliament and I want to share the opening part of it with you in his honour. Mr Mbeki, you will be missed by a great many people in this country and continent of ours.

(The complete speech is available on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWTixmmtamE for those who want to hear him or read the whole speech.)

I owe my being to the hills and the valleys, the mountains and the glades, the rivers, the deserts, the trees, the flowers, the seas and the ever-changing seasons that define the face of our native land. My body has frozen in our frosts and in our latter day snows. It has thawed in the warmth of our sunshine and melted in the heat of the midday sun. The crack and the rumble of the summer thunders, lashed by startling lightening, have been a cause both of trembling and of hope. The fragrances of nature have been as pleasant to us as the sight of the wild blooms of the citizens of the veldt. The dramatic shapes of the Drakensberg, the soil-coloured waters of the Lekoa, iGqili noThukela, and the sands of the Kgalagadi, have all been panels of the set on the natural stage on which we act out the foolish deeds of the theatre of our day. At times, and in fear, I have wondered whether I should concede equal citizenship of our country to the leopard and the lion, the elephant and the springbok, the hyena, the black mamba and the pestilential mosquito. A human presence among all these, a feature on the face of our native land thus defined, I know that none dare challenge me when I say -

"I am an African!"

PS: I can truly identify with his words - also with the rest of the speech. The photos were added by me to give emphasis to his words.

School, a bicycle and Teddy

School - a place of mystery and excitement
where my sister and brothers disappeared to every morning... and at last I was ready to go there too. Even the disappointment when I realised I am not going with them on the big bus into town, could not dampen my excitement.

I must admit to a certain amount of doubt and awe as my sister and especially my brothers took it upon themselves to prepare me for this new adventure by telling me about all the dangers, horrors and dreadful, cane swinging teachers that awaited me in school.

On arrival at school with my parents, the doubt and awe quickly disappeared when I saw all the children I knew, and quite a few unknown ones, running around, shouting and laughing - later I came to appreciate the joy of seeing friends for the first time after the long Christmas holidays.

My first school was a farm school. There was an entrance lobby and two classrooms with a veranda on both sides running the length of the building. A little way from the main building, were three toilets for the girls and teacher (those hated bucket contraptions again) and three toilets for boys and the principal - whether their's had buckets I never found out because I never went into them... not even when the boys ran in there to hide when we played hide-and-seek.

Mr van Niekerk, the principal, taught the seniors in Grades 4 to 7 and my teacher, Miss Visser, taught the juniors in Grades 1 to 3. The juniors went home at 12 o'clock and then she taught the girls in the senior class needlework while he taught the boys woodwork.

During breaks, one long break of 30 minutes at 10 o'clock, and a shorter one of 15 minutes at 12 o'clock when the junior children went home, we played... hopscotch, "kennetjie", soccer, marbles, tops... whatever it was the season for. The few girls in school quickly turned into tomboys for our own survival. My primary school days were ones of "anything you can do, I can do better". It was only when I entered high school that I re-connected with my feminine persona.

Money was very scarce in those days and most of the children walked to school, sometimes over long distances. I had to walk about 3 kilometres to and from school every day. Only the very lucky ones had bicycles and I often looked at those with envy and wished-and wished-and wished, that I had a bicycle of my own.

My wish-wish-wishing paid off. At the end of my first year at school, my parents bought me a brand new BSA bicycle. I became so absorbed in learning to ride it that one night my mother, checking up on me before she went to sleep, found me missing from my bed. My father eventually, after quite a bit of a panic, found me in the garage, fast asleep, sitting on my bicycle. After that the outside doors were locked at night and thus my career in sleepwalking came to a sudden end. By the time the new school year started, I could ride well enough to give the boys a run for their money.

Another item that entered my life at the end of that year, and that stayed a part of my life to this very day, is Teddy. My spinster aunt brought him home for me and he effortlessly slipped into the role of best friend. Not only did he move into my life but also into my bed; he was only ousted many years later when my husband replaced him. I still have him today, but now he is retired to an old suitcase filled with other special soft creatures of my children that I hope to one-day pass on to my grandchildren.

Nobody's Friend

I have no respect for justice. I aim without killing. I break hearts and ruin lives. I am cunning and malicious and gather strength with age.

The more I am quoted the more I am believed. My victims are helpless. They cannot protect themselves against me because I have no name and no face. To track me down is impossible. The harder you try, the more elusive I become.

I am nobody’s friend. Once I tarnish a reputation, it is never the same. I topple governments and wreck marriages. I ruin careers and cause sleepless nights, heartaches and indigestion. I make innocent people cry in their pillows.

Even my name hisses. I am called Gossip.

Before you repeat a story, ask yourself:

Is it true?
Is it harmless?
Is it necessary? If it isn’t, don’t repeat it.

~ Author Unknown

A friend sent this to me in an E-Mail and I want to share it with all of you. I am sure we have all encountered this venomous entity at one time or another in our lives. We have all experienced the pain, humiliation, anger and even damage caused by gossip.

Unfortunately, most of us have also, at one time or another, been guilty of it, whether intentionally or not. Of course it is very hard to admit that we are guilty, but it is only through admitting it that we will begin to pay attention to what we say about others and thus be cured of this deadly (to others) disease.

How often have people told you damning stories about others, and how many times have you repeated it? The defence is usually: "It is not gossip, it is the truth". So what if it is true, if it causes distress or harm to another person, it is gossip.

Something else I have learned about gossip is that once the truth is known and it is not as sensational as the gossips would want it, they never go back and undo what they have done. They will just move on to the next juicy little story.

I am not going to play holier than thou and claim that I have never gossiped, but a couple of years ago I was burned pretty badly by the fire called gossip, and I hope I have learned a permanent lesson from it. My family went through a very distressing event in our lives. Someone close to us was accused of something very serious. It was very hard dealing with the actual situation, but nothing as hard as dealing with the gossip. The actual situation only tarnished the person involved, but the ensuing gossip tarnished everyone close to the person. Once the investigation was over and the person was cleared, nothing could be done to undo the harm that the gossip had caused... if only the gossips had waited for a week or two before they started spewing their poison, untold pain and harm could have been avoided.

After this experience I started reacting very rudely to gossips. When someone says: "I don't want to gossip, but..", I say: "Well don't". If anybody tells me a story that I suspect is gossip about someone else, I ask if they would mind if I check the truth with the mentioned person. I have lost a lot of "friends" through this behaviour, but I have found that I am no poorer for the loss.

One more thing I have learned through experience, and also the last thought I want to leave with you is this: "If a person gossips to you, the same person will also gossip about you - so beware".

Goodbye old friends....

I will miss you dearly. You have carried me through many a happy, sad and difficult day and I could always depend on you. Now that you have reached a terminal stage, I have decided it is time for you to retire. You have earned your rest!

Comfortable clothes, and especially shoes, tend to grow on me. The more comfortable, the more intense the love affair and this pair of leather sandals have been my favourite for many years. They have been resoled twice, but are now beyond redemption. So I have to say farewell... it's hard, but what has to be done....

I love beautiful, stylish clothes and shoes... as long as somebody else wears it. Myself? I am strictly a jeans and tackies girl. Of course there are occassions when I dress up... weddings, funerals, court appearances (I have only once been in a court of law, but that is a story for another day) meeting the queen... I even go to work and church in my jeans.

Luckily I do not have to work with the public and my boss has long ago decided that my skills outbalance my dress code, so I only dress up for work when the Generals or the Minister visits.

Shopping for clothes is sheer hell for me. I can never find anything that I feel comfortable in straight away and of course, in my country they seem to only sell clothes for midgets; everything I like is too small! (I'm sure I am the only woman in the world who has this particular problem!)

It is not that I am an untidy person, I just like comfortable clothes! Smart suits, dresses, etc. is just not my cup of tea. I always feel a bit like a Christmas Tree when I am all dressed up and I find it difficult to be myself at such times. Oh yes, and please, no ten minute shoes - that is sheer torture!

Worst thing about having to retire my old, comfortable faithfuls is that now I will have to go out and shop for another pair. Please all you bloggers out there, spare me a thought...

Women Wisdom

I received this from a friend and thought it would be good idea to share it with all my Blogger friends. Some of these, especially #3 and #7, definitely apply to me.

1. A friend of mine confused her Valium with her birth control pills.. she has 14 kids but doesn't really care.

2. One of life's mysteries is how a 2-pound box of chocolates can make a woman gain 5 lbs.

3. My mind not only wanders, it sometimes leaves completely.

4. The best way to forget your troubles is to wear tight shoes.

5. The nice part about living in a small town is that when you don't know what you are doing, someone else does.

6. The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight because by then, your body and your fat are really good friends.

7. Just when I was getting used to yesterday, along came today.

8. Sometimes I think I understand everything, and then I regain consciousness.

9. I gave up jogging for my health when my thighs kept rubbing together and setting fire to my knickers'.

10. Amazing! You hang something in your closet for a while and it shrinks 2 sizes!

11. Skinny people irritate me! Especially when they say things like...'You know sometimes I forget to eat!' .....Now I've forgotten my address, my mother's maiden name and my keys, but I have never forgotten to eat. You have to be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat!

12. The trouble with some women is that they get all excited about nothing and then they marry him.

13.. I read this article that said the typical symptoms of stress are eating too much, impulse buying, and driving too fast. Are they kidding? That's my idea of a perfect day!

Melancoly at the end of a weekend

Sometimes I sit and think,
and sometimes I just sit.







This is me at the moment
The busy Easter weekend is over
The house is back in order
The washing is done
The supper is simmering on the stove

The children has been and gone

...and I am at rest.

I love this feeling
I love the peace
I love the quiet
I love the contentment
I love knowing that they are safely home
...so I am at rest.

I know I will remember
I will remember the sharing
I will remember the fun
I will remember the chaos
I will remember the laughter
I will remember the cameraderie
...but for now, I am at rest.

Hinge or Hoax of History?

Max Lucado is one of my favourite writers and I am sure he will not mind if I use some of his words in a blog during Easter. He has a wonderful way with words, but more so he describes events in the Bible in a way that no one else does.

At the beginning of his book,"No Wonder They Call Him The Savior", he describes a conversation he had with Ian. Ian was a man who explained:

"I grew up in the church, I wanted to go into the ministry. I took all the courses, the theology, the languages, the exegesis. But I quit. Something just didn't click".

Earlier in the conversation, he said: "Don't talk to me of religion, I've been down that road. And please, stay off theology. I have a degree in that. Get to the heart of it, okay? I want to know what counts."

I know that many people feel the same way as Ian. Caught up in all kinds of religious rules and practices, habits and beliefs, but with no personal experience of the the Christ in their lives. They all basically ask the same question: "What really counts?”

Max explains it like this:

"....The part that matters is the cross. No more and no less.

The cross.

It rests on the time line of history like a compelling diamond. Its tragedy summons all sufferers. Its absurdity attracts all cynics. Its hope lures all searchers.

And according to Paul, the cross is what counts.

My, what a piece of wood! History has idolized it and despised it, gold-plated it and burned it, worn and trashed it. History has done everything to it but ignore it.

That's the one option that the cross does not offer.

No one can ignore it! You can't ignore a piece of lumber that suspends the greatest claim in history. A crucified carpenter claiming that he is God on earth? Divine? Eternal? The death-slayer?

No wonder Paul called it "the core of the gospel." Its bottom line is sobering: if the account is true, it is history's hinge. Period. If not, it is history's hoax.

That's why the cross is what matters., That's why if I had that cup of coffee to drink with Ian again I would tell him about it. I'd tell of the drama on that windy April day, the day when the kingdom of death was repossessed and hope took up the payments. I'd tell of Peter's tumble, Pilate's hesitancy, and John's loyalty,. We'd read about the foggy garden of decision and the incandescent room of the resurrection. We'd discuss the final words uttered so deliberately by this self-sacrificing Messiah.

And finally, we'd look at the Messiah himself. A blue-collar Jew whose claim altered a world and whose promise has never been equalled.

No wonder they call him the Savior."

What more can I say, but "Please consider this cross and the Man who were nailed to it. Will it become a hinge or a hoax for you?"

Blessed and happy Easter to all my Blogger friends.

Limpopo Easter Weekend

This is an aerial photo of Moria City. You might ask: "What city?" but twice a year it turns into a city with around 1,5 million inhabitants.

It is the spiritual home of the Zion Christian Church (ZCC), the largest of the African indigenous churches in Southern Africa. Engenas Lekganyane founded the church in 1924 after reportedly receiving a revelation from God in 1910.

When Engenas died in 1948, his youngest son Joseph succeeded him as leader of the church. Edward, the eldest son, and traditional successor according to the African tradition, then started his own branch of the church and named it the St Engenas Zion Christian Church. The emblem of the original ZCC is a star and the St Engenas ZCC has a dove for an emblem. They are commonly known as the Star ZCC and the Dove ZCC.

The original church was influenced by the doctrines of the Christian Catholic Church of John Alexander Dowie, based in Zion, Illinois, and the teachings of the Pentecostal missionary John G. Lake, who began work in Johannesburg in 1908. The membership of the Star ZCC stands at approximately 15 million and the Dove ZCC at approximately 5 million.
Twice a year, over the Easter Weekend and on the first weekend in September, those members who possibly can, undertake a pilgrimage to Moria City; a barren area about 40 kilometres East of Polokwane in Limpopo. There is a small settlement at the site, but basically no infrastructure exists. (I cannot understand why basic amenities has never been built... after all, the week after Moria weekend, one of the ABSA Bank branches in Polokwane is closed to the general public in order to count and deposit the collection money from the weekend. The money, as I have been told by many members, are collected in 44 gallon drums!)


However, this lack of amenities does not stop around 1,5 million pilgrims from congregating at Moria City over the Easter Weekend. They come from all nine provinces of South Africa but mostly from Gauteng, North West, Mphumalanga and Limpopo, the most northern provinces. Over the last few years, some infrastructure, like tents, portable toilets and food stalls run by the church, have been provided but it is not nearly adequate to cater for 1,5 million people. However, such is the zeal of these worshippers that minor issues like this do not stop them from attending the major religious and social event on their calendar. The African way of worship includes much dancing and singing and very little time is spent sleeping during this weekend.
The town where I live lies just off the N1 freeway; the major road to Moria City and is traditionally the last (and in many cases the only) pit-stop on the way to Moria. About 2 000 busses alone, will pass through this little town during Thursday night and Friday morning and again during Sunday night and Monday. This is not mentioning all the taxis (10- and 16-seater busses) and private vehicles. As you can imagine, this has an enormous impact on the town.

Now you will understand why Naboomspruit has the biggest Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet in the country and why it stays open 24 hours a day!

PS: Apologies for the poor quality of the photo's, but I had to use what I could get.

09 November 2010.  To all who read here, please also read this post before commenting. 

Is this possible?

I am not very interested in politics but something happened in my country this week that is impossible to ignore... even for me! I have always believed in our judicial system and once a political party was elected, I was happy to accept their authority and even support them (within limits). I guess that many years in the civil service, where we are expected and subtly brainwashed to be apolitical, has had that effect on me.

South Africans will go to the polls on 22 April for the fourth elections since democracy in 1994. There is no doubt in my mind that the ruling party, the ANC, will be re-elected for the next term.

Our previous president, Mr Thabo Mbeki, was ousted during the second half of last year during the ruling party's National Convention and a new president, Mr Kgalema Matlanthe, was appointed in his place. At the same convention, Mr Jacob Zuma was elected as president of the ANC and it is a fact that he will become president of this country after the elections.

The reason why Jacob Zuma was not appointed as president of the country right away was that he did not hold a seat in parliament. He lost his seat in parliament as deputy president of the country, in June 2005 when the previous president relieved him of his duties when he was charged in court for fraud and corruption.

When the decision to charge him was made public, he said: "I welcome this decision as it affords me an opportunity to respond to, and clarify, the allegations that have been made against me over a period of time. Since then he, and his legal team,has done nothing but battle to keep him out of court. A battle they won yesterday afternoon.

Yesterday morning he was a man awaiting trial for more than 700 charges. (Originally is was only two charges but during the ensuing investigations it grew to more than 700.) This morning he appeared in court to hear that all charges against him were dropped after the Acting National Director of the National Prosecuting Authority yesterday declared: "I have come to the difficult conclusion that it is neither possible nor desirable for the NPA to continue with the prosecution". ("Political interference" was cited but no concrete evidence to justify this allegation was presented in order to qualify this conclusion.)

Of course, Mr Zuma is not guilty of any crime - in our country you are innocent before the law until you are found guilty by a court of law. However, neither has a court of law found him to be innocent either... and this is where my problem with the whole issue lies. This country simply does not know if it's next president is a criminal or not!

How will we sleep peacefully and secure knowing that the president of our country could be a criminal? How will we continue trusting in the integrity of our judicial system when a possible criminal are allowed to just walk away free? How could anybody vote for a party whose elected leader could be a criminal? Yet the vast majority of black Africans are blindly loyal to this man's party and will vote for his party and indirectly for him, on 22 April in free and fair elections.

I wonder in how many other countries this would be possible...

When Africa and Europe meets

After spending the weekend with house quests - and thoroughly enjoying it - I was preparing to spend Sunday evening on the back stoep (no proper English word for it - closest is porch) with my Blogger friends. I made myself a nice cup of coffee, got my laptop and made my way to the back stoep only to find that my dear cross-culture neighbours had made a wood fire and my back stoep was "unbreathable". Oh well, Africa is not for cissies!

Now don't get me wrong... I love an open wood fire that burns brightly. I love being next to one on a cold winters evening, staring into the flames, enjoying the vibrancy of colours and shapes they create and sharing special time with family or close friends. I have many fond memories of such fires... If a nice lamb chop and some fresh boerewors are sizzling on it, even better.

What I fail to understand though, is the smoky wood fires that my African neighbours seem to enjoy. For some reason lost in the smoke of history, a fire must be made and it must produce smoke. . The temperature is 28 degrees Celsius, dinner is cooking on the electrical stove in the kitchen, water is being heated in the electrical geyser in the roof and the television set is blaring in the lounge, but a fire must be made and it must smoulder and smoke!

In Limpopo, the most northern province of South Africa, where I live, the differences between the two cultures are still very strong. I cannot speak for the city dwellers or other parts of my country, I can only speak for Limpopo for this is where my everyday life is lived and where my experiences is formed. This is where I live these differences every day.

The smoking fire thing is only one of many such differences. A very annoying one to Europeans is the way Africans love to huddle together. For instance, when standing in a queue of any kind, they will always stand close enough to one another for their bodies to touch. Europeans in contrast, value personal space very much. Lets face it, we cannot stand being jostled and breathed upon by others, not even our own family and friends. Well maybe in the privacy of our own homes, but definitely not in public. Believe me, you would only once be jostled in a queue by someone who has not bathed for a week because of some or other tribal ritual, and you would value your personal space even more.

Our mothers spent many hours teaching us, (well, trying to) to speak in gentle tones, especially when in public. Other people are not interested in our conversations (okay, not supposed to) and if we speak loudly, it would be disturbing to others. (Or was it just my mother's way of trying to save her own hearing?). Well, not so with Africans. Whenever you encounter more than one African, you will hear them calling out to one another and then continuing the conversation at the very top of their voices. Whether it is from one side of the street to the other, or from one side of the banking hall to the other. Libraries are no longer places of quiet and serenity - it is a cacophony of youthful voices having conversations while researching and studying!. An African friend clarified this habit with a very simple and valid explanation: If you speak softly to someone, other people might think you are gossiping... makes sense to me, but try having a meeting in the Conference Room with a couple of them carrying on a conversation in the passage just outside the door...

Our eating habits...

Well, except for Kentucky Fried Chicken and McDonalds, there are very few similarities.

Africans delicasy: Mopani worms (eaten with fingers).
European delicasy: Snails (eaten with cute little forks)...

and never the twine shall meet!


PS: In South Africa we have many cultures and much to learn from each other's cultures. However, whether politically correct or not, the two main cultures are African (meaning influenced by the Black tribal traditions and cultures) and European (meaning influenced by the English and European traditions and cultures) such as is also found in the USA, Canada, Australia, etc. So for the sake of simplicity in this post, I have referred refer to the black Africans as African, and to the white Africans, as European - even though I was born on African soil, raised under the African sun, speak an indigenous African language and am exceptionally proud to call myself an African.

An Interview

Recently I discovered the Blog of Willow Manor. What a treat! I requested to be interviewed by her and here is the interview. If any of you who read this post want to be interviewed, the instructions are at the end of this post. This is really fun!

1. If you could have dinner with one historical figure, who would it be and why?

I want to have a very long dinner with Eve. Being a Christian woman, there are two cardinal questions I want to ask her: "What kind of fruit was it" and "Why did you bite into that damn thing?" This one act of defiance on her part did more harm to the female population of this planet, than any other deed since and I strongly suspect this is also where women's unhealthy fascination with and reliance on, food began. When I get to heaven, she will be the first person I will look up and once I have finished my conversation with her after the first couple of million years, I am definitely going to look up my Mother-in-Law. (Why did she not teach her son to pick up his dirty underwear and socks?)

2. Other than your loved ones, what is your most treasured tangible possession?

That would be my...no, no. I think it is my...no not really. Maybe it is my....also not. I guess I am just not so into material things. I like the little luxuries in my life, like my computer, my washing machine, my indoor toilet, etc, but I do not "treasure" any of it. It is all items that I need to live my everyday life, but I will not spend one day mourning the loss of any of it, I'll just regret the discomfort of being without it.

The one thing that I do value (and it seems it is a very old-fashioned commodity nowadays) is my good name. My father taught me that if you loose anything, you can always replace it, but if you loose your good name, you can never replace it. That is why I truly strive to live my life in such a way that, every morning when I wake up, I can say with honesty, "I am proud to know me".

3. What would you consider your greatest accomplishment?

My greatest accomplishment I share with my husband of 32 years... OUR MARRIAGE! Eddie and I are two totally different people - I cannot think of one major issue, except our faith (and even there we have subtle differences), which we agree on. Ours is truly a marriage of agreeing to disagree!. Not only did we grow up in different language groups, we grew up in totally different sub-cultures and religions. I am an Afrikaans speaking Afrikaner from a Calvinistic background and he is an English speaking "Hanskakie" from an Anglican background. I like computer games, he watches TV. I am extremely tidy and organised; he is untidy and disorganised. He is a hoarder; I throw away. I am my children's friend, he is their father, etc, etc,....

Yet we have managed (sometimes I think it was through sheer stubbornness) to live together happily (even though we often did not even like each other much) for 32 years. For him to have lasted that long with me, and for me to have lasted that long with him is more than an accomplishment, it is a miracle.

4. How, if at all, has blogging changed your life?

I am still new to blogging, so I have not really noticed any change except that my available 500 Mb Internet Access now only lasts for 2 weeks instead of a month. One other thing is that because I am a closet introvert (yes, we do exist), blogging has become a way of communication with other people in a comfortable way by publishing something of myself and reading the thoughts and experiences of other people. I am not very good at socialising - groups of people terrify me - I definitely prefer one on one communication and I find blogging offers me that.

5. Before blogging, what, if any, was your main mode of personal expression?

I am not at all sure that I ever had, or have a personal mode of expression. Whenever I have experienced very strong feelings or thoughts, I have always had the habit of putting it on paper - my way of making sense if it - but I have also always destroyed it afterwards. I like crafts, but once I have mastered one I loose interest in it until the next one comes along. (I guess I am just lazy; I'll much rather loose myself in a book than in my workroom.)

If you would like to be interviewed by me, leave me a note in the comment section. After a day or two, I will send you five questions. Once you have answered these questions, you are welcome to interview others on your blog.

1. Leave me a comment saying: "Interview me".
2. I will respond by E-Mailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions).
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

NITECRUZR FOR PRESIDENT!

Just over a week ago, disaster struck!

I had just completed a post and hit the "PUBLISH POST" button.

Nothing happened!

... and oh!, I was so excited about this particular post as it was an interview I had just completed. I could not save or publish - I could not even moderate any comments - it was terrible - "cold turkey" withdrawal is never fun!

I kept on getting "Error on page" and "Javascript:void(0)" messages. I spent the next couple of days visiting help sites and forums and absorbed a lot of new info, but it helped not a single iota. Every suggestion on how to solve this problem, failed miserably.

Next, I contacted a very talented and knowledgeable IT (wise)guy that I know very well (once again I had to confess my IT ignorance and stupidity to a cheeky child, half my age, and he will remind me, be sure... OUCH!) and he suggested that there was something wrong with my current JRE (Java). I immediately downloaded a new JRE (Java) (and there went another 17Mb of my precious megs) - but still no success.

Yesterday, I happened onto my candidate for president at http://www.nitecruzr.net/. I left a question for him and today I received a reply. "TRY CLEARING YOUR CACHE AND COOKIES."

I did.
It worked...
One hundred percent.

Thank you, thank you, thank you nitecruzr for spending your nites cruzring the web (my imagination... or is true?), you are my disaster control hero.