September 2004 Archives

Thank you all very much for your kind and concerned words regarding this. To tell you the truth, I don't think it has affected the boy and I, who are sitting far away from it all in Maryland, just yet. And it probably won't hit us until we take a trip to Tennessee and see it with our own eyes.

Beginnings and Endings

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(Before I begin, a quick P.S. - PRE-Script, in this instance: Thank you for so kindly taking me under your wing while she is abroad and for teaching me how to upload photographs. Now I clearly just need some serious help with page layout!)

The modest, shy boy never told me he grew up in a mansion.

Perhaps if he had given me fair warning, I wouldn't have spent so much time acquainting myself with the mansion's powder room immediately upon my arrival, ungracefully getting rid of the shock.

Oh, all right. Yes. So the nausea may have been brought on by the shock at discovering that the boy grew up in a historical mansion. Or it may also have been brought up (or it may have been purely coincidental, you decide) by some of the alcohol consumed the night before.

I ask you: Who in their right minds go to weddings where they drink heavily the night before they're supposed to meet their boy's father (and owner of said mansion)?!?

I implore you to tell me: Who on earth would dare to bond with the bridesmaids over shots of brandy and the like, shouting for more rounds just to celebrate the fact that it was someone's very first time attending a real American wedding? (And declaring that fact loudly to the whole world, slurring that, by George, it wash jusht like in the moviesh... with the I do'sh and shtuff. In South Africa we merely grunt "yes" at each other during the vows, and that's that, then you're hitched. And when South Africans wish to divorce, we just scream NO! three times, really loudly... Oh, no. Sorry. That's something else.)

Anyway, I digress.

Bad News

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I'm not quite sure how to begin this post.

You see, yesterday we received some really REALLY bad news. That's not the reason why I've been so quiet on here lately. In fact, it has nothing to do with my silence. Suddenly the reasons for my silence seem very insignificant and trivial now. So much so that I suddenly can't really remember what they were at all.

I don't want to use the bad news as "blog fodder," but writing is something I use to work something out in my head (or out of my mind, for that matter. Exorcise the demons, so to speak). To try and explain things to myself, you know? To bring understanding and hopefully, eventually, peace.

But now I have to use writing to somehow make it real, because shock has made me numb and disbelieving.

Yesterday, my darling boy's father's house burned down. It was a historic mansion, built in 1875 on a hill in a small Tennessean town. It's the place where the boy and his brother were born and grew up; one of the first buildings that inspired the boy to become an architect. After his parents divorced, his father stayed on there and because it was too big just for himself, he decided to share it with the world by turning it into a beautiful inn.

And now, just like that, in the blink of an eye, it has been lost.

The boy is surprisingly philosophical: just grateful that his father - who was still living there until yesterday - wasn't home at the time. Grateful that there weren't any guests at the time. But still... Perhaps when it sinks in, there will be more sadness. For now, he is in operational mode, on the phone and trying to find out what can be done to help. He even said to me: "It was just material things."

And yes... but, am I just a sentimental fool to think that a childhood home is more than that?

It's a double wammy for his family: last week, during Ivan the terrible, his mom's Florida condo was lost. Her attitude about that loss is also wonderful, though, because she said that it wasn't her main home, and she felt so heartbroken for all those who DID lose their main residences.

They're both right of course. We should be grateful that everyone is still all right.

I just feel so utterly helpless and really sad for them all.

New Discoveries.

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I've been so upset about the discovery of the Skunk Stripe at the Back of my Head that I now have another, just from all the worrying about the first one. (Also, that's why I've been so quiet lately. Shocked into silence, you see. NOT that I've heard any complaints about my silence from anybody, mind you... cough, cough.)

Anyway, so now, with the two stripes, I resemble an almost-former-redheaded girl who has two skunks fastened to the back of her already enormous head.

I doubt very much that the way my age is annoyingly and so very publicly manifesting itself all over the back of my head like that is about to set a trend for fall fashion. (Think about it though, in a way it's very Davy Crockett-ish for girls, no?)

I am however expecting that several representatives from PETA are going to bombard me with hate-mail. Especially after making this above statement about a possible fall fashion trend. Please take note, PETA people, I'm in no way endorsing or encouraging skunk hunts! (Think of what a smelly affair it would be! Oh, yeah... and awfully cruel to skunks too.)

Feel free to still send out your nude protesters though. (And if possible, make them all male. Please?)

Oh, and apart from the protesters being male, I have just one more teensy request:

I know all this testing is insanely boring, but because the home pc has been acting all mysterious.

But mind you, it doesn't take much for anything technological (or should I rather say technoILlogical. Okay, okay... terrible. I can't promise to stop though!) to appear all mysterious around me.

Anyway, again, here's hoping!

P.S. Didn't work... :-( I had to resort to the laptop once more.

Happy Birthday!

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Happy bearday... I mean, boneday... I mean... BIRTHDAY. Yeah, that's it. Birthday.

Happy BIRTHDAY, dear boy! Thank you for indulging my coffee and how-to book addictions; my bad (and constant) jokes; my craziness for canines; for sampling all the South African music I listen to all the time (and for pretending to actually even like some of it); for learning Afrikaans from the answering machine; and for just generally putting up with me, nonsense and all.

The other day I briefly wrote about a horrific discovery made on My Very Own Head by my (now former) very own hairdresser. ("Now former" because of reasons you'll soon comprehend.)

Before I continue I want to adhere to the laws of Responsible Blogging (stop laughing!) and warn you: This horrific discovery is far worse than being notified that an entire army of headlice (or whatever the collective term for them might be. Troupe? Flock? Pack?) have forever embedded themselves into one's scalp and skull and are steadily, inch by inch and itch by itch, working their way towards one's brain.

Oh, yes, the discovery I'm about to speak of is worse than that.

I know this is mostly old news already (see why a procrastinator couldn't possibly make a good reporter?), but for the benefit of at least one of my now-officially-down-to-two readers (what's happened to the rest of you? Oh, right. Me. In that case, please continue about your business of ignoring me) who lives abroad in the same planet that I once came from, I've decided that this story bears repeating.

Someone (a Published Author, no less) recently asked me the following question: "What type of things do you enjoy writing?"

Here is my reply:

Red-rospective

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So, this is what the other side of thirty looks like.

Yes, it's been one week and thirty years to the very day since my spirited mom coughed me out in a convent in rural South Africa.

I was completely inconsiderate and arrived two weeks early. (That must be the reason why I'm always so tired!)

I've since made up for my inconsideration and now make a point of always being late the last one to show up anywhere.

My mom was suffering from bronchitis at the time, so she really did cough me out.

And let me tell you, that was no small accomplishment on her part, since I had (and still have... in fact, it was this size when I was born) an enormous and very round head with a shock of red hair standing straight up.

If not best, at least in show!

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Thank you so much Simon and Showcase for deeming me worthy of this!

Whoo-hoo! After being unable to upload my blog from the home pc, the boy went to see a man about a laptop and said mysterious and very clever man made the laptop internet worthy.

I'm holding my breath and hoping...

For the past few weeks, I’ve been acquainting myself with a treadmill.

And I assure you, so far not so good. It has NOT been a pleasant experience.

Now, before I continue you should know that I’m not known for agility, grace or for being sporty.

The sportiest things I’ve ever done include being driven around at high speed in a wealthy date’s sports car. Oh, and I was actually appointed to the sports desk of a community newspaper in Johannesburg during my days as a cub reporter, believe it or not. The editors, the readers and I still wince collectively whenever that image is revisited, so I’d rather not elaborate. The risk of traumatising everyone all over again is too great.

Testing

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Still having trouble uploading my own site. So just a quick check after some tweaking to see if this will work!



















about
is a South African girl living in South Africa. That doesn't sound very original, we know, but you might find it remotely interesting when you learn that she has only recently returned to South Africa for the first time after a nine year, one month and two week (non-stop!) stint in the United States where she accidentally became an outlawed alien (also known, especially in immigration circles, as an 'illegal immigrant.' We prefer the term 'outlawed alien' ourselves). During her reversed exile from her homeland, she kept herself occupied by winning this website (but only after shamelessly bribing the judges) and thus being unleashed on the web where she slowly, leisurely became the World's Laziest Blogger; by being a nanny and by attending sci-fi conventions in search of other aliens. In the US, she also made her sailing debut, her international acting debut, tried and failed to learn the piano, and never learned to cook. She is hopelessly addicted to coffee, dogs (especially Labrador Retrievers), how-to books (with a particular fondness for her copy of the Time/Life A - Z Medical Encyclopedia), and she tends to grossly overuse parentheses (we're not kidding) during her attempts at writing, which you may - if you really have masochistic tendencies - subject yourself to by reading the words to the right of this column. If you REALLY and truly STILL want to know more, you can read her C.V. here.
Or you can stalk her send her some love via e-mail at: redsaid[AT]gmail[DOT]com

The Wish List (Because yes, she really does need more how-to books. Honestly!)

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comments
  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: Terra: YES! Wait... you didn't think that I would be this possessed to post for NO REASON, did ya???... [go]
  • Terra.Shield : OH! ... [go]
  • Marco Author Profile Page: Be a bit like serving drinks at AA?... [go]
  • Marco Author Profile Page: I personally think it is a mindset that has been cultivated over the years, and one, if not stemmed,... [go]
  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: Ms. Crazy Cat Lady Pants!!! Squeeeee! Sooo good to see you! (I thought NO ONE was bothering to read ... [go]
  • Ms. Pants : Kitties don't get enough credit sometimes. (All times, if you ask me, but I'm a Crazy Cat Lady.)... [go]
  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: Hey Tamara! I know, right?? That is a tough act to follow indeed. I adored that dentist. He used to ... [go]
  • Tamara Tipton : Well, I am not sure how any dentist could live up to that standard! LOL! I hope your appointment was... [go]
  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: I'm really really glad that I'm not the only one, Po! Sometimes I drive myself mad with all the what... [go]
  • Po : Those questions run through my heads for various times in my life too, that is for sure!... [go]
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