Friday, July 22, 2016

My Weed Growing Adventures

Beautiful germination and the first three leaves come out … then they turn into five or seven leaves, growing along the sides of the main stem.  The underbellies of the leaves are silver and if allowed to grow as it wants, will turn into the most beautiful tree that reminds me of the Christmas trees of Europe.  I hate destroying the males, so I just let them grow as nature intended.  The buds start … the oil glands glisten and I know I have a crop of stunning cannabis – and all three types.   I even manage to grow purple dope which has become my pride and joy.  The sad news is that I can only do this in spring and summer – my attempts at growing indoor weed has been a dismal failure.   My heart ached so for these spindly little plants that were growing taller and taller, turning into corkscrews as they tried to reach the light of my lamp.  This was all done under a table with a heavy duvet covering the table to give them warmth – a lamp to keep the light going and a heater that I turned on and off to keep them warm.  I tried earthworm pee … I spoke to them and I played them classical music.  All to no avail.  Slowly they fell over; some started ranking and others withered and died. They are all so pathetic that I do not have the heart to put the one container I have left outside.  They will freeze to death and so in my compassion for them, I carry them around the house, placing them next to any window that may give them a little warmth and light.  I guess until I rank amongst the professional hydroponic fellows with their big business – I will leave the indoor growing to others.  But hell – my summer crops did well; what a wonderful addition to my salads.  Just another herb that tastes just like rocket. 

Saturday, July 16, 2016

Shattered - The Story of the Wrong Kind of MD

To the doctors I see, I have this advice for you.  Please retain some humility.  If a patient says “Something’s not right”, they are usually right.  If you don’t know the answer, ask for the opinion of another colleague.  Swallow your pride and make your patient the priority.  Think carefully about how your orders affect the patient and the way the patient is nursed.  Your orders or the way you give them can easily contribute to the suffering and discomfort.  Be mindful of the way you speak to patients, their families and the nurses.  Your arrogance and superiority are not becoming of a caring human being.  You also make mistakes but your mistakes can be deadly or at the very least can do more harm than good.     
Shattered is a deadly honest look at what it means to be at the mercy of the wrong kind of doctor.   You can purchase the book from this link: 

(Copy and paste the link into your browser)

Flying kites under a carpet

Some days are just shit. We all have them.  There is no other word to describe it.  You feel so down and demotivated that you can fly kites under a carpet with ease.  No one can say anything to lift your spirits and even if there are those who care, not even their words can lift you out of the doldrums.  There is just no wind beneath your wings.  You don’t know what steps to take to change the situation.  You stuck in a no-man’s land, alone with just your overwhelming negative thoughts that come from something that was done to you that was unfair, cruel or even something that you would never do to another person.   This period of unrest of the soul is needed so that the debris and the dirt can be discarded and a new plan and life can be carved out of the old.  So, sometimes these shit days are necessary.  Today was one such day for me.  Tomorrow will bring numerous ideas and plans. And then the kite can fly in the sky again. 

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

The Colour of My Skin

When will SA be mentally mature enough to realize that the world is first understood only in opposites?  Thereafter, we humans start to make distinctions within those opposites.  Almost everything we can think of has its opposite.  Day and Night.  Up and Down.  In and Out.  Hot and Cold.  Back and Front.  North and South.  Winter and Summer.  Ascent and Descent.  Sit and Stand. Rich and Poor.  Employed and Unemployed.  Violent and Gentle.  Black and White.  Love and Hate. ANC and DA.   

Skin colour is not an opposite. We are shades of colour ranging from pitch black to blue-white. We are like the flowers; a hundred different shades of all the colours in the universe.  Irrespective of the colour – a flower is still a flower.   Irrespective of our colour, we are still Africans in the South of Africa.   

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

My own version of The Lord's Prayer

When we can't pray, Jesus gave us some words to use. They are but a mantra that people utter with no insight or concentration.  It is just garbled words that we spit out like a parrot.  How many of us actually concentrate on those words? 
 I remember teaching the children in my home to say the “Our Father” and one day I asked them to say it without me leading them.  This is how it went:  “Our Father, what are a lemon.  Hello, what is your name?”   Just goes to show how much that means to us today.

I have changed the words so that it has meaning to me.  Those old words are worn out and give my soul no solace and no hope for a better anything.  I share mine with you here.

Father, who is love within and around me 
You are holy beyond my understanding
Let Your kingdom of love and goodness be carried out by me
Here on earth as it is done in Your spiritual home that awaits us
Be the fulfillment of my every need and brighten my understanding
Thank You for the blessing of being free because You showed me how to forgive and to continue doing it
Teach me to know that You are always with me and lead me away from all negative thinking
Keep me from feeling separated from You and other people; keep me connected and compassionate.
For Your kingdom is within me, Your power and glory fill me, for ever and ever, Amen.

Friday, July 1, 2016

Where my Need to Protect comes From

Me at 14 with my brother and sisters
All the things I write about are things that I have experienced myself. Sometimes I change the names, sometimes the places, and sometimes I just tell the truth.  This is one of the latter stories.

I was 12 years old and the eldest of five children.  Our parents used to argue a lot, but my father used to use his fists.  It was particularly bad when my father came home from the pub.  In those days, all pubs closed at 11pm by law.  I would lie quietly awake until my father came home and if it was quiet and peaceful, I would then go to sleep.  I could not sleep until I knew that my mother would be safe.   There were often times when he did not come home before midnight; those times when he was prowling the streets or the party was continuing in someone else’s house.  When I think about it today, I feel so sad for that little girl who could not sleep for fear of her father killing her mother. 

It was never quiet outside because we lived in a house directly opposite the train station.  The tooting and shunting of the trains was always in the background.  But in our home, we tiptoed around my father.  I got so clever at sensing his mood that I would know whether my mother would be beaten before it even happened.

As I got older, I also learned that when he was in that mood, I could save my mother from a beating by doing something to take his attention away from her, putting myself at his mercy.  I was given more hidings than I can remember, but there was always a pay-off.  I knew that after a hiding, his mood would change and my mother was safe for the next two to three days.  The reason for the beatings was always because “You are too much like your mother”.

When you are a child, you see things very differently.  I know today, that my plan to get my parents to stop fighting would never work, but at that age, I came up with a plan.  My plan was for all of us to run away.  I discussed it with my brother and sisters, arguing that if we ran away, our mother and father would be so worried about us that they would stop fighting to find us.   For such a serious discussion, we had climbed out of the upstairs window and were sitting on the roof, overlooking the railway station.
“How will we go?” asked my sister.
“With the train….we can buy tickets.  I have got R12.25.  Do any of you have any money?” I asked.
Together, we had just over R13.00.   I do not remember, but perhaps that would have been enough to buy tickets for five children to somewhere.

There was an exchange of ideas, including a discussion about what we would eat once we had run away.  Our plans came to nought when my brother said “Let us go when we have eaten all the food in the house”.