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I HATE SPAM!!!

I am writing this in English so that everyone who has nothing else to do but to fiddle around on the internet every available hour of every day, can understand.

1. How big a fool do you think I am? If you understood anything that is being written in Afrikaans, why do you hand out your so-called advice in English? With your name at the bottom that can only be pronounced in either Russian, Spanish or some other language foreign to me. And then you dare call yourself my “friend”.

2. This blog is for friends and family. If you are not my friend or a family member, please stay off with all your so-called good-intended advice.

3. I have no need to have the rest of the world read my blog. I do not want more “hits”. I do not want my blog to be the first to appear on Google or whatever other website you people use. If by chance you come across my blog and can actually understand what is written, read and enjoy. But please refrain from leaving bull-shit advice.

4. Get yourself a decent job and stop harassing people with your spam.

5. And please do not bother to comment on this – it means you are more stupid than I thought.

Die ouderdom

Die blêrrie ouderdom. Dis waaragtag nie vir sissies nie!

Jare gelede, toe my Pa so ‘n bietjie ouer was as wat ek nou is, kla hy by sy swaer, my oom, dat dit darem ‘n gedoente is elke oggend om uit die bed te kom. “As jy een oggend opstaan en jy het nêrens ‘n pyn nie, moet jy weet jy is laasnag oorlede” seg my oom toe. Dus staan ek elke oggend op, met ‘n diepe dankbaarheid gevul vir elke pyn wat ek kan voel.

Dit vat my so ‘n rukkie om aan die gang te kom en die oë neem ook so ‘n wyle om reg te fokus, bril en al en dan spring die dag met ‘n helse vaart weg. Ek moet mooi hol om by te bly!

Alles gaan nie te vrot nie, totdat ek moet grimeer. (Let wel, die klem lê op “moet” want lank vergete is die dae wat ek dit sonder grimering buite die poorte van hierdie of enige ander huis gewaag het!) Die probleem is nie die grimeer self nie; ek kan nie sonder die bril sien nie. En ek kan nie grimeer met die bril aan nie. Ek het nou al na kontaklense oorgeskakel maar dit skep weer probleme van sy eie. Ek kan nie vêr sien nie en naby sien, glad nie. Dis mos waar die naam “bi-focal” vandaan kom – met die boonste gedeelte van die bril sien jy “baie” en met die onderste gedeelte “fôkkol.” Ek het dus ‘n linkeroog met ‘n lens in vir naby sien en ‘n regteroog met ‘n lens in vir vêr sien. My arme brein sukkel nog steeds om te weet watter oog se sein hy wanneer moet gebruik. Dus ‘n babelse verwarring elke keer wanneer ek die kontaklense dra.

Maar ek dwaal af. Ek het agtergekom dis eintlik makliker om net die bril te dra – altwee oë kyk gelyktydig waar en wanneer hulle moet en my brein kan fokus op dít wat belangrik is. Wat beteken ek doen my grimering sonder dat ek mooi kan sien. En dit wat ek sien, lyk vir my mooi. Eintlik lyk ek beeldskoon – so wasig en sonder ‘n plooi! Totdat ek die bril opsit. Liewe hel, ek skrik my elke oggend oor ‘n mik. Dan moet ek probeer om herstelwerk te doen met die bril op.

Maar ek is darem dankbaar. Dankbaar vir oë en pyne. Dis ‘n bewys dat ek darem nog leef. Ek dink ook ek weet hoekom mense Alzheimers kry en hoekom jou sig gaan met die ouderdom – dis sodat jy nie kan onthou jy het ooit beter gelyk nie en sodat jy nie die verval kan sien nie.

En dan lag ek so in my binneste oor die ouer vrou wat so ‘n wyle gelede vir my gesê het: “Die ouderdom is ‘n bliksem. Eers maak hy jou lelik en dan maak hy jou dood!”
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Ongelukke gebeur

In 2008 gaan kuier ons vir liewe vriende van ons in ‘n land waar mense borde breek wanneer hulle “happy” is. Ons kuier verwoed en die kinders speel ‘n storm los. Die een Pajama-koffie na die ander word op die stoep gedrink, kitsoplossings vir die wêreld se probleme word gevind en ons poog om verlore tyd in te haal en op te maak vir die maer tye wat voorlê.
Die tweede laaste dag van die kuier, is dit die jongste se verjaarsdag. ‘n Vrydag. Die volgende dag is haar 4e verjaarsdagpartytjie en ons vlieg weer die Sondag. Ek en Liefie besluit om hulle ma ‘n “af” middag te gee terwyl ons ‘n lekker lang ent met die kinders gaan stap. Daar is 3 fietse tussen die 4 van hulle en die 3 oudstes onderneem om beurte te maak met 2 van die fietse. So gesê, so gedaan.
So stap ons. Heuwels op en heuwels af. Op ‘n stadium stap Kaitlin en haar Pa terwyl die twee oudste maatjies ry. Die kleintjie, die verjaarsdagmaatjie, ry op haar fietsie. Ek stap saam met haar en hou my hand teenaan die sitplek want sy is nog bietjie onvas op die wieletjies. So kom ons by ‘n ernstige afdraende. Ek vra haar om liewer van die fietsie af te klim want ek is skrikkerig dat sy dalk beheer gaan verloor so met die versnelling saam. Haar antwoord aan my was om skielik te trap en onder my hand uit te gly.
Daar gaat sy! Ek skrik my eers flou en toe skop die adrenalien in. Ek besef hier kom groot bollie. Want, die pad maak ‘n negentig grade na regs en op daai draai is daar ‘n huis wat teen ‘n krans gebou word. Dus gaan sy haar óf teen die huis te pletter ry of sy gaan oor die krans vlieg. Ek begin hardloop. Duncan sê hy het besef hier is groot moeilikheid want dis die eerste keer in sy lewe wat hy my sien hardloop. Ek hol al skreeuende by hulle verby en probeer die kleintjie inhaal. Dié trap net al hoe harder. Ousus en ouboet hoor die geskree en gaan stop onder in die draai. Hierdie gebeur binne sekondes maar voel soos ure. My lewe flits voor my verby en sommer al die ander s’n ook. Ek besef daar is geen manier dat almal van ons heelhuids uit dié petalje gaan kom nie. Ek dink die Liewe Vader het ook gesukkel om my skietgebede te verstaan – ek het gesukkel om gelyktydig te hol en te bid.
Ousus besef wat aangaan. Sy spring van haar fiets af en gaan staan soos ‘n wafferse rugbyspeler en wag haar sussie in. Ouboet gooi sý fiets neer en kies die hasepad. En kleinsus tel spoed op. Die volgende oomblik tref die kleintjie haar sus. Met ‘n slag waarvan ek die klank nie kan beskryf nie. En dis net bloed waar jy kyk. Ek is binne sekondes daar met Duncan ‘n kort-kop agter my. Kaitlin skree net.
Kleintjie skree sy kry nie asem nie. Ek sukkel om haar neus in haar gesiggie raak te sien so tussen die bloed deur. Ousus lê op die naat van haar rug en die bloed stroom uit ‘n wond op haar skeen. Dis chaos. Ek beveel die kleintjie om deur haar mond asem te haal en vir Duncan en Kaitlin om aan ousus aandag te gee.
Die volgende oomblik stop liefste vriendin gelukkig daar met die kar. Ouboet het vir Ma gaan roep toe hy besef hier is moeilikheid. Ek klim met die twee gewondes in die kar saam met hulle Ma en Duncan, Kaitlin en ouboet stoot dit wat oor is van die fietse, huis toe. Dis ‘n kakofonies lawaai in die kar – kinders skree, ek huil en vriendin probeer uitvind wat gebeur het. By die huis spoel ons die ergste van die bloed af en kry almal in orde vir die tog hospitaal toe.
Laat die aand is die familie terug by die huis. Ousus met steke in die beenwond en kleinsus se gebreekte neus met so ‘n groot wit pleister op, die ogies toegeswel en potblou. En sy haal deur haar mond asem. Sy lyk soos Rocky Balboa na ‘n helse uitklopslag.
Haar verjaarsdagpartytjie was vir my ‘n nagmerrie – julle kan julle die kommentaar voorstel. Elke keer wanneer daar ‘n kleintjie in die verte skree, vra almal waar ek is!

Die Ier

In 2005 is my peetkind gebore. Die langverwagte mannetjie het op 17 Januarie sy verskyning gemaak; presies 98 jaar ná my ouma Käthe se geboorte. Soos die Voortrekkers van ouds is ons die vreemde in om hierdie wonderwerkie te gaan beskou en bekwyl. Hy was kleiner as piepklein en ek het hom een kyk gegee en aan die bewe gegaan. Hoe de hel maak jy so ‘n klein mensie groot? Maar ek het nie rekening gehou met sy Pa en Ma se hardegatgeit en deursettingsvermoë nie en vandag is hy die liefste, dierbare, oulikste, mooiste, slimste (ja ek weet ek is bevooroordeeld!) seuntjie. En sy tannie se hart se punt.

Eintlik gaan my storie nie oor hom nie maar oor sy liewe Pa. Dié is ‘n opregte Ier – gebore en getoë in Killarney, Ierland. ‘n Ekstrovert van formaat en iemand wat nog eendag die Pous gaan oortuig hy is eintlik ‘n Jood. ‘n Hart soos ‘n hotel en die enigste Ier wat ek van weet wat geen druppel alkohol ooit oor sy lippe laat gaan nie. Ek verstaan hom net wanneer ek voor hom sit of staan en na sy lippe kyk as hy praat. Oor ‘n telefoon klink ek soos die spreekwoordelike “village idiot” en is ons gesprekke uiters eensydig en baie niksseggend. Hy het egter in ons Coetzee’s se harte gekruip om daar te bly.

Ewenwel, soos ek gesê het is ons daar na hulle toe in Sandland toe Mannetjie gebore is. Swaer kom my haal by die lughawe en ek het nog skaars my voete uit die lughawegebou gesit toe word ek vertel dat ons eers ‘n draai gaan maak daar waar ‘n mens tydelike bestuurslisensies kry. Sus het ‘n keisersnit gehad en dit was dus moeilik vir haar om te bestuur en ek sou die amptelike rondkarweier vir haar en die res word. Dit was ‘n vreesaanjaende gedagte – alles is andersom as hier by ons. Ek was papnat gesweet teen die tyd wat ons by die lisensieplek aangekom het en dit was nie as gevolg van die hitte nie. So kry ek binne ‘n halfuur ‘n tydelike lisensie. Ek was eintlik teleurgesteld dat hulle so effektief funksioneer. Het so in die stillegeit gehoop dat my oë of iets my gaan diskwalifiseer om die blêrrie lisensie te kry.

Terug by die kar word ek aangesê om agter die stuurwiel in te klim. Ek was bang ek gaan níé dood nie! Ek kry ‘n vinnige les in die basiese en word vertel dat “yield to the right’ nie hier van toepassing is nie; “Yield to SIZE” wel. Afgesien daarvan dat omtrent driekwart van die bevolking daardie dag gekies het om op die pad te wees en dat almal probeer het om ons die Ewigheid in te help, het dinge nie te vrot gegaan nie. Tot by die laaste minisirkel so ‘n kilometer van hulle huis af. Ek het die hele tyd vir myself geprewel: “Hou regs. Hou regs. Hou regs…” Die gesprek tussen my en Swaer was ook een wat geen mens kan oorvertel nie want nie een van ons het dit verstaan nie. So benader ek die minisirkel. Met die “hou regs” in gedagte. En toe draai ek links om die sirkel maar darem in die REGTERBAAN.

Swaer gil: “Where de fook are you going?”
“I am keeping RIGHT!” skree ek terug.
“IT IS DE FOOKING RRONG RRIGHT!” gil hy weer vir my.

Dis tóé dat ek sommer oor die middel van die sirkel ry om weer veilig aan die anderkant in die regterbaan te land. Ek dink daar is nou nog ‘n paar Arabiere wat my my kundigheid en vernuf beny!

Nodeloos om te sê, Sus het ons maar met haar “wond” rondgekarwei vir die res van ons kuier.
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Vakansies en misverstande

Nadat my liewe Pa afgetree het, het hy en liewe Ma ‘n karavaan gekoop. En ernstig begin om ons erfgeld uit te gee. As jy weer hoor, is hulle oppad êrens heen vir ‘n laaaaang tyd. Hulle het die wêreld plat getoer en dinge gesien en beleef waarvan die meeste mense nie eers droom nie.

Hulle het professionele inpakkers en kampopslaners geword. Elkeen het presies geweet wat om wanneer te doen en hulle vakansies het gewoonlik op ge-oliede wiele verloop.

So kuier hulle ‘n slag weer in die Wildtuin. Vir ‘n laaaaang tyd. Sommer ‘n hele klomp nagte op ‘n plek en ons kry gereeld verslag van hulle doen en late.

Een van die kampe waar hulle was, het baie ou, groot bome. Met wortels wat op onmoontlike plekke bo-gronds verskyn. Dis ‘n kamper se ergste nagmerrie want om ‘n ordentlike staanplek te kry wanneer jy vir wortels moet koes, is ‘n groot storie. En dan moet julle onthou, gewoonlik het man en vrou verskillende idees van waar die karavaan moet staan. Ligging, ligging, ligging! Die karavaan kry dus gewoonlik sy staan net voor daar ernstige huismoles uitbreek. Einste Pa en Ma se karavaan het darem sy staan so tussen die wortels gekry en beide was tevrede met die ligging.

Een dag is dit weer tyd om in te pak en te vertrek na die volgende staanplek. Alles is opgeslaan en weggepak en nou lê die haak van die karavaan voor. Pa klim in die Kombi en “reverse” hom tot so naby moontlik aan die karavaan se haak. Dan moet daar saamgewerk word om die karavaan te stoot sodat sy haak oor die kar se sleepstang haak en alles vasgemaak kan word. Daar word beraadslaag en besluit dat Ma van agter af sal stoot terwyl Pa van voor af sal trek. So gesê, so gedaan.

‘n Rukkie later, wonder Pa waar draai Ma so lank. Hy vermoed sy het intussen badkamer toe gegaan vir die laaste piepie voor hulle die lang pad aandurf. Hy wag maar. En hy wag. Ma kom nie terug nie. Hy besluit toe maar om te stap en haar te gaan aanjaag. Dis toe hy so by die agterkant van die karavaan verbystap dat hy vir Ma sien. Sy is papnat gesweet en bloedrooi in die gesig soos sy nog steeds die karavaan stoot sodat Pa die koppeling kan doen!
essay

Prestasies en dinge

Ons hoërskool was verlede jaar 40 jaar oud. So ‘n jaar voor die GROOT FUNKSIE word daar wyd en syd e-posse uitgestuur, Facebook word ingespan om almal wat nog leef te probeer opspoor en ‘n groot opgewondenheid pak die meeste beet om weer ou vrinne te sien of te sien of die mooies van skooltyd nog so mooi is en of die lelikes darem ‘n “innings” gekry het.

Daar land ‘n e-pos op my rekenaar van die skool af. Net om te verduidelik watter formaat die verrigtinge gaan aanneem en ‘n “alumni vraelys” om asseblief tog al ons inligting op datum te bring. Dit was nogal maklik – ek en Duncan was beide in die skool en ek stuur dus een namens hom ook. Daar is egter ‘n vraag wat ek maar oopgelos het by gebrek aan inligting. Die vraag was: “Watter prestasies het jy na matriek bereik?”

Dis net hier waar ek toe vashaak. Ek was vir lank voltyds ma. Is nog steeds want die laaste kuiken is nou in matriek. Ek het darem intussen my eie klein besigheidjie begin en ek doen nie te sleg nie. Ek kan redelik goed kar bestuur – dis wat my “track record” sê. Ek kan tuinmaak hoewel ek nie noodwendig daarvan hou nie. Ek kan goed kosmaak alhoewel ek dit haat, ek kan naaldwerk doen, ek kan wasgoed was en stryk, ek bestuur al ons geldsake, doen internetbetalings, “run” ‘n groot huishouding, kan bed opmaak, lees baie, kan ‘n elektriese prop regmaak, kan ‘n gloeilamp omruil en selfs ‘n redelike intelligente gesprek voer as dit moet. My hande staan vir min verkeerd, ek grimeer gereeld bruide en matrieks en kan naels ook “doen’ – akriel en gel! Ek kan ‘n gat boor sonder dat al die pleister afkom en ek skiet beter teiken as my man. My kinders is nogal heel oulik en ek het hulle grootgekry sonder dat ek in die tronk beland het vir poging tot moord. Ek probeer om ‘n goeie ma, vrou, dogter, suster en vriendin te wees. kortom, ek is ‘n “Jack of all trades” en ‘n “Master of None.”

Ek sal nooit Staatspresident of hoof van ‘n skool wees nie. Ook nie ‘n briljante hartchirurg of ‘n Professor van formaat nie. Maak dit my minder suksesvol as iemand wat dit wel is? Wat is sukses? Of wanneer is ‘n prestasie ‘n prestasie? Wie besluit iemand se prestasies is groter of beter as ‘n ander s’n? Hoekom word iemand wat baie van een onderwerp weet, meer suksesvol beskou as iemand wat iets van baie dinge weet? Ek wonder maar net.

Solank my mense my eendag onthou as iemand wat gelééf het, ploeter ek maar voort in my prestasielose bestaan!

"Six things that whites have that blacks don't" = six things explained.

Ek het ‘n stuk deur Verashni Pillay gelees wat sy vir die Mail & Guardian geskryf het onder die titel “Six things white people have that blacks don’t”

Ek het die stuk gelees en teen my beterwete besluit om self ook daaroor iets te skryf. Wie ookal my stuk lees, ek stel voor dat jy eers haar stuk lees en dan myne. Ek het net besluit om lekker te krap waar dit baie jeuk…

I am writing this in response to a piece written on “Six things that white people have that black people don’t.” I want to stress the fact that I am not starting a discussion; merely giving my point of view on this subject from a white perspective. I also want to stress the fact that I am not a racist; I am a classist. I only associate with people with the same moral and other values as me, irrespective of their colour, sex, and financial situation.

Ayn Rand, a Russian-American philosopher, once said: “Wealth is the product of man’s capacity to think.”

Adrian Pierce Rogers, an American pastor, also said the following:
• You cannot legislate the poor into prosperity by legislating the wealthy out of prosperity.
• What one person receives without working for, another person must work for without receiving.
• The government cannot give to anybody anything that the government does not first take from somebody else.
• When half of the people get the idea that they do not have to work because the other half is going to take care of them, and when the other half gets the idea that it does no good to work because somebody else is going to get what they work for, that my dear friend, is the beginning of the end of any nation. You cannot multiply wealth by dividing it.”

Albert Einstein said:
• The difference between stupidity and genius is that genius has its limits.
• The value of a man should be seen in what he gives and not in what he is able to receive.
• You have to learn the rules of the game. And then you have to play better than anyone else.

Mahatma Ghandi said:
• The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.
• You must be the change you want to see in the world.

Buddha said:
• No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.

1. In 1652, Jan van Riebeeck was sent by his government of the day to explore the possibility of establishing a halfway post on the southern African coast. Nothing was going on in the country although there were already people living here. What started then resulted in a flourishing country with endless possibilities for those who wanted to think and work hard.

My own great-grandparents arrived in the late 1800’s with nothing but a bag with clothes and a few pennies, to start a new life in this beautiful country.

During the time from 1899 to 1902, the Anglo-Boer war was fought. Almost a whole nation was wiped out by the British – women and children put in concentration camps where they either died of starvation or sickness, men were killed on the battle fields, farms were burnt to the ground and livestock was killed. After the war, whoever remained returned to nothing. No farm, no livestock, nothing. There was nothing to fall back on – most people were in the same situation. What the people did however was to pull themselves up from the nothingness and start over. Companies like Santam, Sanlam, Naspers, Remgro, Richemont, Shoprite, Iscor, Sasol, etc. were founded post the Anglo-Boer war without ANY assistance or hand-me-ups.

So to say that most white South Africans have had it easy and that there was always someone to bail them out or get them started is farfetched – by thinking and working hard, wealth arose. We don’t blame the Anglo-Boer war for everything that goes wrong in our lives!

2. The average white South African lives from the hand to the mouth due to exorbitant tax rates, levies on almost everything, e-tolls, education and so forth. Very few have family in high-level positions who can hand out the so-called advice, mentorship and hand-me-ups. Mostly they also just endeavour to give their children the best they can afford, which is not always a lot. They also, on average, think about not having too many children. You must also take into account that a very small percentage of our population has to carry the economy of this whole country. If you end up in a position of wealth due to your upbringing and hard work, you have definitely earned it! And this pertains to everyone in this world.

A Scott founded tarred roads; the Americans founded the computer and flew to the moon, the Chinese founded gunpowder, the Germans founded automation, and so I can carry on and it was done because someone thought about it, not because there was a hand-me-up.

3. As mentioned in 2. above, white people don’t normally have more children than what they can afford to have. Advertisements, social media, radio, and television has contributed immensely towards the enlightenment about good nutrition, early childhood development, language skills, etc. Schools are teaching and have been since even before 1994 the importance of all the above. If after 20 odd years, people haven’t started to think about this, when will they ever? And why should anyone be punished because their parents think about life in general?

4. Have you ever experienced people’s attitude towards disabled people? People refusing to be associated with any kind of disability because it doesn’t fit their picture of the perfect world? Their parking bays are occupied by non-disabled and if you should dare say something about it, you are immediately cursed for being a racist. Get off that chip on your shoulder – it is sometimes just as bad to be white when you are constantly accused of being a racist just because you are white.

Perceptions arise when scenarios play over and over again. Service delivery for example has gone for a nosedive since BEE was incepted. Stop proving everyone’s perceptions right.

To give an example: we have had a domestic worker for 17 years. Seventeen years of being treated as a family member, where she was taught how to cook healthy food, about childhood upbringing, given remedial tutoring to her son, she got a house and everything she needed to live comfortably, a pension, medical, she was told about economics, and was given all the “upliftment” anyone can dream of. What did we get in return? She stole more from us than I earn in a year. So forgive me if I am a bit presumptuous!

Start accepting the fact that we are different – different cultures, language and whatever and stop comparing yourself to other races. Do what you do with pride; eat your chicken or whatever it is that you like. We also eat chicken. Some of us can also not swim. Some of us also have names we wouldn’t have chosen for ourselves but we accept that and move on, even if people joke about it or mispronounce it.

You cannot insist on practising your cultural ways and then blame white people and apartheid if you are deprived of opportunities.

5. None of the family members in my previous generations had either a car paid off by someone else or a degree fully paid for. In fact, very few had degrees or cars! My father worked part time and managed to get a student loan and had no financial support from his family. In fact, my father signed surety for my grandfather to buy a tractor and after his studies, my grandfather was declared bankrupt. My father had to still pay off his studies and then for a tractor that had no use anymore. And he did not have a car.

My husband also worked to pay for his own studies. And so I can go on.

6. Due to the downward spiral of the Rand, most white South Africans nowadays also have to support their parents.

There is a saying: “Give a man a fish and he has food for a day. Teach him to fish and he has food for a lifetime.” Experience also tells us that when you get something for nothing, you don’t appreciate it. And this is relevant to everyone – not black people only!

So much has been done over the centuries and so much is still being done to “uplift” people. And this is where the thinking-part comes in. Should you sit down and really think about it, you will realise that the current government has done much more harm than apartheid has done. Who will be blamed once all resources, natural and otherwise, have been obliterated? Apartheid? The white people?

During apartheid mostly everything worked – hospitals, schools, government departments, etc. You cannot blame someone for not being able to go to school if you burn it down. You cannot blame apartheid and whites if your schoolbooks are not delivered on time. You cannot blame apartheid and whites if you have to compete with fifty odd million people for your spot in the sun. You can however blame your government for taking from the wealthy and hardworking and instead of handing out to the less privileged, putting it into their own pockets! Parliament makes empty promises and because people don’t think, they keep on voting those back into parliament!

“Freedom” comes with responsibility. It means there are laws to abide by. Rules to adhere to. Taking responsibility for your own life and not always expecting someone else to do it for you. To stop always pointing the finger at someone else for your misery. To think about it and to do something about it. How you live your life is a choice; you choose if you want to let the sadness of your upbringing or lack thereof stand in your way to succeed in life.
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Kos en dinge

Soos ek reeds genoem het, kan ek goed kosmaak maar ek het ‘n broertjie dood aan tyd en moeite spandeer aan iets wat in ‘n groot gat verdwyn en óf ‘n leeftyd om die heupe gaan sit of sonder enige nagedagtenis weg is. Ek doen eerder goed waar ek tevrede kan terugstaan en my handewerk bewonder; nie net een keer nie maar vir solank as wat ek nog tyd op hierdie aarde het.

Gelukkig het ek ‘n familie wat verstaan en dring hulle nie aan op “masterchef”-etes nie. Maandae is nie vir my ‘n lekker dag nie. Ek moet dan koskaste opvul. Liewe genade, hoeveel metodes is daar om ‘n stuk pampoen gaar te maak? Of boontjies? Of enige groente? En intussen moet ek so tussen al die allergiëe en intoleransies ook nog kophou. Ek bewandel die Spesiale Winkel se gange (ek noem dit so want ek wil nie gratis advertensies plaas nie) en alles lyk vir my nog net soos dit verlede Maandag gelyk het. Mense om my raak liries oor een of ander onuitspreekbare groen goed en klap amper hande as hulle ‘n ou bakkie van nog ‘n onooglike kosding raakgewaar. Ek sal nie eers weet waar om te begin soek vir ‘n resep nie, newwermaaind hoe kosbaar die watookal is nie!

Ek kry my suster jammer. Sy sit in die verte en stof van die Midde-Ooste. Daar is nou vir jou ‘n Babelse verwarring – en al die mense soek eetgoedjies wat aan hulle bekend is. Ek kyk die meeste van die goed gewoonlik so en wil amper in die winkel op my kniëe gaan en dankie sê dat ek nog nooit honger genoeg was om my mond aan die meeste van daai goed te sit nie. Party het hare en ander sulke stekels. En die mense kóóp! Die meeste van daardie kossies lyk vir my of ‘n goeie Suid-Afrikaanse vark ook sy neus daarvoor gaan optrek.

Maar ek dwaal van my storie af. Ek bewonder mense wat liries kan raak oor ‘n resepteboek. Gewoonlik verloor ek belangstelling by die tweede bestanddeel. Ek het al hard met myselwers gepraat om tog net ‘n mate van opwinding te voel wanneer ek so na die mooi kosprentjies kyk. Maar helaas. Ek sien net die groot leë gat waarheen dit verdwyn, berg skottelgoed en ‘n vetterige kombuis. Ek eet wel graag baie lekker maar ai, mag dit asseblief iemand anders se probleem wees om dit op ‘n bord te kry.

Lank terug het ‘n dierbare vriendin besluit om vir my te kom wys hoe om haar lekkerste beskuit te bak. Dit was ‘n dawerende sukses en die gesin het gesmul totdat daar nie eers meer krummels vir die voëltjies oor was nie. Maar dit was ook die laaste keer dat daai spesifieke beskuit in hierdie kombuis gebak is! Nou stuur die vriendin altyd ‘n klein pakkie beskuit aan my uitgehongerde gesinsgenote wanneer sy bak!

Ek maak wel ‘n rissiesous wat ‘n geharde rissie-eter na sy asem sal laat snak. En Nando’s van die mêp gaan verwyder. Maar ek maak dit soos en wanneer ek so voel en gooi by wat ek in die hande kry. So kla Kaitlin eendag dat almal wat sy ken, ‘n familieresep het. “Wat is ons s’n?”, vra sy. Toe tik ek maar vir ‘n resep vir rissiesous. Ek het nog nooit die resep probeer nie. Ek is te bang ek donner my sous op!

Intussen floreer my mense op DBM’s. Gewoonlik teen die einde van die week. Donder-By-Mekaar.
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