Redsaid

... dead.

I turned older yesterday than I've EVER been before. (Yes, I KNOW I've already said it somewhere on here. I'm glad you occasionally pay attention, imaginary reader. So are you saying this joke is OLD? And just WHO do you think you are calling OL... THAT awful word?!?!?)

It's a dire state of affairs. I referred to myself as a 'girl' last night, and one of my young immature student friends actually SNICKERED.

In somewhat better news, though, after being such a traitor last year, my fat face is doing its age-defying job again. But at REALLY inopportune moments. (Of course!) Some time ago, on a rare trip out of the house, I was out shopping with my sister. Now, for the 'sake of this story, you need to know that all three of my sisters are absolutely GORGEOUS.

Since I'm the youngest, all the talent, looks, charm, style, general savvy, cooking skills, intelligence, and bone structure had already been handed out to all of them. So by the time I came along, the only things that were left for me were depression, anxiety, fat, a handful (okay, MORE than just a handful... grrrrr) of freckles, an appetite, no metabolism (deadly combo, those two), an inability to tan, and a generous helping of neuroses.

So I'm kinda used to fading into the background when I'm around them. It's okay, there are the odd perks to being invisible woman. For one, it gives me time to observe or read in public without ever being disturbed.

Anyway, so I'm out shopping with my sister. (Or rather, SHE's shopping - apart from a slight addiction to books that I have to occasionally maintain by buying more books, I have not received the shopping gene either - and I'm just trailing behind her, helping to carry stuff.) At one point, she bought some pots and pans from this Englishman (during the demo, he was all "swee' 'art" this and "swee' 'art" that), but since it was heavy, he offered to keep it there so that she could travel light for the rest of the shopping trip. Sister accepted and we were out of there.

When we returned much MUCH later, dude was still working, and I just sort of faded away as usual, lost in my own thoughts while my sister collected her loot.

Suddenly "Swee' 'art" pipes up from behind the counter and pays a very swee' compliment to the girl behind me... Or so I thought. I was on the verge of whipping around to see who the lucky lady was, when I realised that there wasn't actually anyone behind me. Or next to me. Or near me. And so it took a further 10 minutes (I should've said... my sisters clearly got all the 'quick on the uptake' genes as well) or so for me to figure out that he was actually speaking to ME.

I almost went: "Huh?" Luckily I pulled myself together before doing/saying anything too drastically daft, so I just said thanks and mumbled something mildly flirtatious back.

Bless him, for he looked almost as surprised as I had looked just moments before. But then! He shook his head wistfully, sighed and said: "Oh, bu' swee' 'art, I'm WAY too old for you."

Now I SWEAR he couldn't have been much older than 40. It never even OCCURRED to me to ask him just how old exactly he thought I was then? It was only later, after we'd already left, that it slowly dawned on me and I asked my sister: "He probably doesn't realise just how old I really am, does he?" (TOLD you I'm "quick" on the uptake!)

Maybe it's time for me to lose the fat face (and body, but we're not talking about that now, are we?!?) after all. I never realised that being frequently mistaken for a 26*-year old could have such dire consequences on one's romantic prospects.

*Well, perhaps now I'll begin to look 27. I've never managed to look 10 years younger than I actually am and various people have, amusingly enough, always shaved off 9 years. No more, no less. NOT that I'm complaining, mind. It is only when it prevents dashing Englishmen from asking me out that it starts being a bit of a pain.
 

Thank you so much for all your kind comments on my Royally Kind post.

Incidentally, I was visiting my mom when it all happened. And ever since finding out my late friend's connection to the place - that he had lived, loved, lost and died there - I always get extremely emotional whenever I'm around those parts and he's constantly on my mind while I'm there. How strange that the whole Facebook thing with his friend/colleague coincided with my visit to the area...

On a lighter note: As you know, the Royally Kind event was a collective effort of global proportions, masterminded by the Queen (well, Duchess, but for the sake of alliteration, I'm promoting her to Queen) of Kindness herself.

A few days after some of the other girls and I had posted our acts of kindness, the other group posted theirs. I was supposed to link to it on the day, and I'm so sorry that I didn't get to it on time (so typical of me!). Anyway, in a lame attempt to make up for my tardiness, I have waded through their archives (lovely blogs, all of them, so it was such a treat) in an attempt to track down the relevant posts and link directly to it.

Follow this link and join the lovely, jet-setting Res (who has just finished writing the second - and hopefully final - draft of her novel!!!!!! WOW!) as she wittily recounts how she kindly came to the rescue of a hopelessly lost tourist while on her way to Brussels. Go on!

The other Royally Kind post I managed to track down was Bianca's, involving her nice RAK (Royal Act of Kindness, ye dirty minded beasts!) and a visually impaired gentleman. Check it out here.

Other ladies in group two were Caroline, Sharalee, Linda, Sasha, and Jennifer.

Thanks again, Jill, for including me in the event.

I've survived the dentist! I'm shlurring like a drunk when I speak, because my tongue and lips are still pretty much numb, but I'm alive!

Alive to tell the tale of what I ended up doing for the gorgeous Duchess Jill's Royally Kind blogging event (or operation 'stranger danger', as I've affectionately nicknamed it) which kicks off today.

Ever since pledging my participation months ago, I have been wondering what act of kindness I could possibly commit that would fit the bill. As I've mentioned in my original post, since I work from home, I don't get out all that much. In fact, I can easily go a week or two without seeing a solitary soul, so my first order of business had to be finding an actual stranger to be kind to.

My reclusive existence of the past decade has also made me a bit shy, so although I had fantasies in which I envisioned performing dramatic acts of astonishing kindness that would make Oprah's massive car giveaways pale in comparison, I knew that the reality would probably be far more mundane.

So for the past few weeks, whenever I ventured out to go grocery shopping or run errands, I have been wracking my brain for The Perfect Act of Kindness. Terrified that I wouldn't be able to come up with something great and worthwhile and thus have nothing to blog about, I started doing small... no minuscule, really... things to build up a sort of reserve of kindnesses: I smiled at people more. (Which, actually, may have made me look slightly insane, so people didn't take as warmly to that as I may have hoped, and instead took a few terrified steps back whenever I grinned in their direction.) I told the ladies working at the check-out counter that they looked beautiful. I put money in someone's parking meter... only for them to drive off shortly after! At least that made me laugh out loud.

In the end, my act of kindness was something totally unexpected. Something I did without any premeditation but out of spontaneous reflex. It happened a couple of weeks ago and I'm not even sure that I can really count it as a Royally Kind act, so I'll just tell you the story and let you be the judge.

Before I can relate the act, I have to tell you another story. (It's relevant to the kindness, honestly.)

About three and a half years ago, I reconnected with an old college friend on Facebook. After writing on each others' walls for a bit, we decided to catch up via e-mail. At first he wasn't extremely forthcoming about his life; only telling me that he was married to the love of his life and that he had left journalism and was now a firefighter/paramedic in the very same town where I used to live with my mom after returning from the States.

Then, in another e-mail, he poured his heart out. Told me that his wife had died in a car crash before they had even been married a year. It had happened just the year before, so he was still extremely raw. He was always an intense guy... incredibly creative and a brilliant photographer and prone to long depressions back when we were in journalism school.. and I could tell that he was drowning in his grief. It was especially difficult because his second chosen profession was to rescue and save people, and yet he couldn't save the person he had loved the most. 

I tried reaching out as best as I could on the web, but I wasn't effective. I did not want to pretend that I knew what he was going through. So I handled it clumsily. I should have done more. Tried harder.

But I didn't.

He disappeared from Facebook and e-mail for a few months. I sent e-mails. Wrote on his wall a few times. But then, when I didn't get any responses, I just stopped.

In early June 2008, he wrote on my wall again. I was ecstatic. He said that he was back and would be around more. I responded immediately, saying how great it was to hear from him again and I remarked on the new profile picture he had put up of himself to replace the cartoon of a firefighter.

Another quick aside (but still relevant, promise):  I had once written something on his wall (a teasing comment) and another Facebook friend of his had replied to me, getting in on the joke.

Two days after receiving that "I'm back" message from him, I received a private message on Facebook from that girl who had replied to me on his wall all those months before. The subject simply said his name, and I knew... I was sobbing so hard by the time I had opened the message, I could barely read the dreaded words. She told me that she was contacting me to let me know that he had died the morning before. She had the kindness not to tell me that it was suicide, but again, I just knew. She eventually confirmed, when I asked.

In the digital age, grieving means paying tribute on Facebook. I had no other outlet, so a day later, I left a comment on his picture.

And forgot about it, until... Those of you who are also on Facebook would know that, when you leave a comment on someone's picture or status update, you get an e-mail whenever someone else leaves a comment. Well, about two weeks ago I got an e-mail alerting me that someone else had also left a comment on my late friend's picture. (Because yes, after all this time, his Facebook account has never been shut down by anyone, so it is still there, and I don't have the heart to delete him from my friend's list.)

I was curious - it was nowhere near the anniversary of his death or his birthday, which is the only time people usually bother to write anything on his wall or his albums - so I read the comment posted by the other person.

It was left by another firefighter/paramedic, and the guy said that he loved him and missed him and that the job was still heartbreaking and tough, but - and this is the part that chilled me - that he had every intention to 'join him very soon, much sooner than you think'.

I immediately sent this guy a private message on Facebook. I told him that he would probably think that I'm crazy for writing to him, and that I'm sorry if I misunderstood his comment, but if he was planning to follow in our friend's footsteps, that he should please not do it. I begged him to reconsider. It was a long, rambling message and, in retrospect, it was embarrassingly intimate. I told him about my own battles, and about my college friendship with our friend and how much his death has affected me.

I didn't receive a reply from this person, but a little while later, he sent me a friend request. There was no personal message attached. Just the request, which I of course accepted.

I still don't know if I had completely misread his message or not - maybe I had and he was just too gracious to tell me - but I don't actually regret reaching out.

A few days ago, while trying to figure out what on earth I was going to blog about for the Royally Kind project, I remembered this. As I've said, I don't know if it even really counts, since it happened online and via writing and not in the 'real world'. (But hey, considering that this is where I spend most of my time...) Also, I have to admit that this project was definitely not on my mind when I wrote him that message.

You be the judge. In the mean time, meet the rest of the participants in my group and read what lovely kindnesses they've extended: Paige, Vanessa, Elizabeth, Andrée, and Crystal.

I'm a terrible blogger (no news there) and an even worse friend.

The impossibly gorgeous Duchess Jill, who is the brains AND beauty ('tis so unfair to be so fair AND to possess cleverness!) behind the Royally Kind Blogging Event - wherein participants have to be kind towards strangers and then blog about it -  has asked those of us who are participating to post a reminder about the project in order to promote it and perhaps get some last minute bloggers on board.

Typically, I'm way too late in posting (sorry, darling!), but perhaps she will still accept a few late entrants? Or perhaps enter some names for next time? Luckily she didn't mistake my silence for withdrawal from the event, so I'm still included! And I'll be blogging about how I've accosted... I mean... been strange towards... I mean... been kind towards a stranger this Thursday, 5 August. I'm also going to the dentist that afternoon (which is a scientifically proven, major accomplishment for a redhead, since we're such a fragile lot), so I might also be dead by then, in which case my posting will occur posthum(our)ously.

But, on the upside, while I wait for my Novocaine to wear off (or the formaldehyde to kick in), you'll also be able to read a few acts of kindness posts from these other lovelies on the 5th:
Can't wait to see what all of them will get up to! I sincerely hope I get to live to find out!

My sister and I hoofed it down Cape Town's World Cup Fan Walk on Tuesday night, before the match during which our Dutch forebears ended up slaughtering the poor Uruguayans.

Despite the heritage thing and the colour of this blog, we were rooting for Uruguay all the way. (Hey, I can't claim a Dutch passport, can I? So they can just suck it, for all I care. On Sunday, I'll be supporting Baspaña Baspaña all the way!)

Our journey on that chilly evening was decidedly lengthier than the designated Fan Walk. We ended up parking FAR away, so had to walk quite a distance to join the other fans, but every step of it was thoroughly enjoyable. (Says the girl who breaks into a sweat when she gets out of bed - which is why she mostly remains there.)

The walk through the designated city streets to the stadium was awash with colour. (Especially orange.) It was also crowded. Crazy. LOUD!  And hilarious. I grinned like a goof the entire way. Although, on second thoughts, that may have been a grimace due to the pain. Yes, I wore sensible shoes - as if I own any other kind - but when your feet hardly touch the ground during your regular existence, you are definitely going to feel it once they do. I also made my sister pose in front of anything that even remotely resembled soccer-themed memorabilia - which means that she was striking a pose at least once per minute - so that I could snap blurry pictures of her on my cell phone.

She was NOT a very cooperative model, so she was promptly fired (although she'll deny it of course and continue to insist that she quit), and then I retired my noble effort at taking commemorative pics. After the cocktails we picked up along the way (because it's important to remain sufficiently hydrated while taking exercise, didn't you know?), there was no chance that I would have been able to focus properly again anyway!
 
During this World Cup on our shores, I have learned that football fever is a highly contagious condition indeed - even affecting and infecting those of us who are usually immune and indifferent to anything even vaguely sports related.

I've also discovered that I would actually like FIFA to keep governing the country. So they're not paying taxes? Well, neither are many members of our current regime! My sister and I both noted how the police were out in full force. Whether on horseback, on foot or in their patrol cars/vans, their presence made us feel so safe, we didn't even mind walking back alone through the near-deserted downtown streets later that night. Something that would be sheer stupidity/madness at any other time - even though it has to be said that, in 'normal' times, Cape Town is still far safer than Jo'burg and Pretoria.

Also notably absent were beggars, street kids and hookers. Which made us wonder: what did FIFA do with (to?) them?

I also learned that seven Uruguayan fans have the capacity to be noisier than 70 000 vuvuzelas being blown at once.

But the most important thing I am taking away from this World Cup?

I'll tell you later. Sorry, it's simply too horrifically traumatic and still too raw to even talk about right now...   
 

It is almost fitting that the good news came on Memorial Day, because although the true meaning behind the day is incredibly sombre - to remember and honour all of America's war casualties - the Memorial Day long weekend also marks the unofficial start of summer in the US. And that has traditionally always been a happy event.

Today my sunny autumn day here in South Africa became unexpectedly brighter when I found out that one of the American dreams I have harboured since returning to South Africa - a dream I had almost completely written off because I've come to believe (and I've been told) that it was simply too improbable to ever happen - is actually about to come true after all!

Here's a hint... it involves the colour green.

No, sadly, it's not THAT green thing. My South African immigration liar (note: the fact that she is the same nationality as I am was a mere coincidence and definitely not any prerequisite I had when I was frantically searching for someone to take my case) was not suddenly overcome with contrition for taking all my money and then allegedly (note: I said allegedly) never doing anything for me. (Me, bitter? Never!) My case files, which, according to her legal secretary, had inexplicably and mysteriously 'disappeared', were not miraculously retrieved all these years later and filed, leading me to realise my ultimate American Dream of finally obtaining that much coveted and long awaited Green Card (which is oddly not even green at all).

But even though it's not THAT green thing, THIS green thing is a very worthy consolation prize. It is also something I have been coveting for years.

It is this:

Six years ago today I woke up in a tiny rowhouse in Hampden, a quirky neighbourhood in the city of Baltimore. On that day, instead of simply rolling over and falling asleep again – as was my usual habit – I actually got up, ran to the computer, logged on and squealed with disbelief and delight when I saw this.

When I entered Emily’s Win-A-Blog contest, I never in a million years thought that I even had a remote chance of winning it. For some time, I had been quietly following her blog (which is now, sadly, defunct, because the girl is leading an offline life brimming with fullness, love and success). When she announced the contest, I merely took a shot because it was a way of reaching out to her, this fellow redhead who I had come to admire so much, without seeming like a complete stalker.

I don’t think Emily is aware of this, but at the time of the contest (and for a long time before that), I had been gripped by an ongoing, soul-sapping depression. When I wrote my three entries for the contest, it was the first time I had done any writing or anything remotely productive in ages.

But something about her contest managed to reignite a bit of a spark in me. After a long stretch of barely existing in a fog of monotony and constant malaise, I desperately needed something to look forward to again. That contest became it for me. And when I miraculously won, it also gave me a reason to get out of bed again. I am honestly not exaggerating when I say that this blog has quite possibly saved my life.

Little did I know back then how blogging would not only help to slowly usher me back into the land of the living, but what a huge role it also eventually ended up playing in helping me to actually earn a living as well.

Yesterday, in an e-mail (that was only just a tiny bit less sappy and sentimental than this post) to Emily, I wrote: “By the way, can you believe that redsaid.net will be SIX years old tomorrow!? I can't believe how many career opportunities that blog has brought me. Thanks to it (and you!), I'm now making a living as a freelance writer in online media and I’m also actually being paid to blog! So yes, chicka, I'll be forever grateful to you and that Win-A-Blog contest of yours.”

Despite my horrible neglect of it, I still love this blog as much as that first day I saw it. I’m still crushing on Joelle’s gorgeous design. I am still thrilled whenever I receive a comment. (If it hasn’t abated after six years, I think it’s safe to assume that the novelty will probably never wear off.) I’m also beyond thrilled that some of you, who have been here since that first day, have stuck around and that you still bother to read and even comment on my infrequent ramblings.

I know that real writers always say that they mostly write for themselves. But I am pretty sure that I would not have bothered to keep this up (even as sporadically as I have been) without any of you. So thank you very, very much.

P.S. Oh, and Dee? My blogging career would not be complete without me breaking yet more things in the template which made other somewhat important things disappear from the blog... Oh, and all my hot links seem to have changed from purple to bright blue!? So if you have a moment to spare, I would REALLY appreciate your help again please, oh Web Goddess Who Is Now A Qualified Mistress*! I PROMISE I will never ever try and tinker with your code EVER again! No, really. This time I mean it.

*She's a chick with a hot-off-the-printer Master's Degree, geddit?

Because Nostradamus foretold it.

Okay, okay, and because, in the more immediate here-and-now, the lovely Duchess is making me do it! Well, that's not entirely true. I kinda may have voluntarily signed up for it. But it WAS still her idea!

Also, I will not be the only one accosting total strangers. So magnetic is her charms, and so great is her idea, that there are many other chick bloggers from all over the world that have also enthusiastically pledged their participation.

What exactly is it that we will be doing with/to/for strangers, you ask? Don't worry, nothing sinister. (At least, not intentionally so.) On an assigned day during the month of May, we will simply commit a totally senseless act of kindness for a complete stranger. And then we shall all blog about it.

There are not too many rules. Only that our chosen gesture of kindness need not cost any money, but if it does, we should not spend more than ten bucks max.

I have not confessed this to the Duchess yet, but this is actually going to be quite a challenge for me. You see, since I work from home and am therefore a teensy bit on the reclusive side, I do not encounter too many strangers (or even acquaintances) during my day-to-day existence. So this might require me to actually - *GULP* - get out of bed for a change! And perhaps SPEAK to an actual human being?!?

I'm afraid that, since I only ever venture out to forage for food occasionally, my social skills these days subsequently leave much to be desired. I don't know how to communicate with other humans anymore unless I get to type what I'm trying to say on a computer. And even that, as you can clearly see, is a skill I have yet to master! In preparation for my participation in the project, I did make a concerted effort to speak to my sister the other day, but I only just managed a few grunts.

So I'm going to need ideas here. What can I do to successfully complete (and yes, it would be nice to survive) the project and not cause someone in Stellenbosch to have a heart attack from fright when I approach them? (So yes, please, I obviously want my victim stranger to survive as well. I think causing someone's death, apart from defeating the purpose of the entire exercise, would also just be too totally over the top.)

What if I just accept the Facebook friend request from that random Turkish dude? I have NO idea who he is, but he's been sending me repeated friend requests for years. So if I finally be-Facebook-friend him, won't THAT count as my senseless gesture of kindness towards a stranger??

Dammit.

P.S. If you are a girl blogger and you also want to play, shoot the Duchess an e-mail at jill[at]theduchessguide.com and read her far more eloquent explanation of what exactly we will be doing here. 

I saw this while I was dead tired, and - make no bones about it - I just about killed myself laughing. (And now I'll stop with the lame puns.) Thank you, News24, for making me giggle for a change.

(I should actually create a category called Extreme Puppy Love for this one. But before you roll your eyes and hiss at me, cat lovers; please retract those claws, because for once this is not about MY adoration for dogs. In fact, I have nothing on the person I’m about to tell you about.)

A distant relative of mine is a rocket scientist. Apart from the obvious brilliance his occupation requires, he also has a kind and gentle soul and a fondness for dogs.

His love for creatures of the canine persuasion is indiscriminate. He is not bogged down by technicalities such as pedigree or size. I found this out for myself a few years ago when he gave me a lift back from the town of By George! to Stellenbosch. His two dogs accompanied us on the trip, because the three of them had been on holiday together.

I remember the one dog in particular. His name was Jakkals (which is Afrikaans for ‘fox’), but Jakkals the dog did not resemble the sly and pointy-nosed species he was named after. Not even remotely. Maybe his name was ironic, or perhaps he had looked much different when he was a puppy. Doubtful, though. Like me, I suspect that Jakkals was also the runt of the litter, because the mature Jakkals that I got to meet had a perfectly rotund body that was precariously balancing on four disproportionately skinny legs. (Kind of like me! Except for the four  skinny legs part... I don't even have ONE skinny leg!)

Upon first glance, his lineage became perfectly clear: Jakkals was a purebred pavement special. It didn’t matter though, because one look into that odd-looking little mutt’s sweet brown eyes and my heart was stolen.

Throughout the four hour drive (which actually took longer due to bad weather), I reached back frequently and petted him and the other dog. When they finally dropped me off at my sister’s that night, I said my goodbyes, thanked him for the lift and went on my way.

A few weeks ago I ran into that very same relative at the grocery store. We had not seen each other in more than a year. “How are you? And how are the doggies?”

His expression immediately changed. “Haven’t you heard? They’ve both died.”

I felt so horrible for him. Those dogs were like children to him! I reached out and squeezed his arm. “I’m SO sorry to hear that!”

“Yes, thanks,” he said. “They were both old, but still… I miss them terribly. Especially Jakkals.”

Suddenly he smiled a bit. “But you know, after Jakkals died, I had to go overseas for a satellite launch.”

Aww, I thought to myself. So the poor, grieving man immediately and bravely plunged back into his work. “Good for you!” I said.

“Yes, I had saved some of his fur and took it along. And while putting the finishing touches on the satellite before the launch, I attached it to the satellite.”

"Wait... you attached the FUR?" I wasn't sure that I had heard him correctly.

He nodded, squinted up at the Stellenbosch sky and solemnly said: “So now, twice every day, a little piece of Jakkals orbits by here, looking down on us!”

I was immediately so overcome… with the giggles. In my mind's eye, I saw the satellite, completely covered in dog fur. Luckily I managed to scrounge together enough decency and self-control to at least hold my laughter until I was in my car.

 Bow-WOW! Jakkals had gone from being an underdog in life, to being a posthumous astrodog! I always knew that the pup had it in (or shall we rather say on?) him to end up among the stars…

And I don’t think too many other dog owners will ever be able to match – let alone top – such a send-off for their dogs!