OK, Dad? he asked.
Sure, Boy. But I’ve only got a sheet, will you be warm enough?
He just smiled knowingly. He was carrying Girry the Giraffe whose tummy is stuffed with a fleecy blanket. He unzipped her, pulled out the blanket and snuggled under it, his head on Girry’s as a pillow.
You know, when your Mom bought Girry for you I said to her: “Do you think he’ll like that? Isn’t he too old for that?” She just looked at me smugly and said: “He’ll LOVE it”.
I gathered the kids and said “Let’s go and bury Mom’s ashes with Bella. We’ve been meaning to do it for ages, let’s do it now.”
Her ashes had been keeping an eye on us from the mantelpiece. Now it was time for ceremony.
We trooped down under the trees to the spot where Tobias and I had buried Bella and where we had prepared a hole for the little box containing Aitch’s remains.
I gathered my thoughts and cleared my throat and . . .
“ANTS!” the kids shouted, slapping their legs and running away back to the house.
Ah well, I had a little private ceremony, shaking with laughter. Aitch would have enjoyed that (though she’d have had something to say about decorum).
I wrote to some of you when I went to the Master of the High Court of KwaZulu Natal to start a frustrating six month process of queuing and waiting to be appointed as executor of Aitch’s estate. I’d been told: Six Months!
The long and the short of that story was I got forgotten outside someone’s door and when the first lady who had helped me saw me (and probably my sad face) she said “Are you still waiting there?” and took me under her wing.
Three hours later I left with the letter of appointment in my hand! Not “We’ll post it”, nor “We’ll phone you” nor “You phone us”. Done and dusted! In my hand!
Yesterday I finally admitted defeat after searching for Jess & Tom’s adoption papers (the ones that say “asof uit u gebore” – ‘as if born of you’) high and low in our upside-down house. I had turned over everything at home, in the garage, at work, at Trish’s Mom’s place, everywhere five times, so I turned with resignation and trepidation to plan B: Apply for replacement forms from the Department of Justice.
I phoned Ms Miya (who I seem to think we dealt with – her name was on a 2004 letter – the only thing I could find) and she said “I’ve moved from that section, but I’ll help you my lovie”!
And she did: She phoned me back in a few hours and said “When can you come and fetch them?”
How’s that!?
I went first thing this morning to the Pinetown children’s court. Walked in at 7.45am and walked out at 7.48am with the forms in my hand!
Whattapleasure.
Wanting to get to Mozambique for snorkeling soonest. Trish not well at all and wants to go snorkeling and I’m trying to arrange. Phone +2**2394*002 if you can.
Hope and trust all well with you? And your gang?
Our kids well – just rattled.
Thanks
Love Pete
———- Forwarded Message ———
Re: Delayed response Re: Where you?
Hi! I am helping out at a Lodge in the Vilanculos area over the Xmas period – so may not reply promptly to your e-mail!
All is well however!
J —
Jayne Janetzky
———————————–
So I make a phone call
———————————–
On 25 June 2011 09:31, Pete <pete@sheila.co.za> wrote:
Hey Jaynee J !!
So good to chat to you again. That CAN DO approach! Love it. WhattaPom!
We’ll fly at a moment’s notice and I’ll do EFT as soon as you tell me.
The one fly in the oinkment will be PAIN. Let’s hope! Morphine is said to be amazing, so here’s hoping.
(Aitch says, “Morphine has always meant dying to me, Koos!” Well, it has to all of us, hasn’t it? )
Speak soon P
———————————————————————–
Subject: Re: Delayed response Re: Where you?!
Date: Mon, 27 Jun 2011 10:46:10 +0200
Hi my darlings
Well of course its a CAN DO. For you guys we kill bulls and marauding elephants!!!
Have a self-cater chalet lined up (nice) ….price being negotiated …..
LAM cheapest airline especially if you book on line.
Morphine – whatever gets you through the night Trish – is alright, is alright!!!!!
Waiting for you guys – bring jerseys!!! XXXXX
~~~oo0oo~~~
Well, it didn’t happen.
Aitch ended up in hospital for a night, which ended up being four nights – ‘Just to rest.’ Actually, I thought the herceptin had affected her heart, but my good friend cardiologist Dave said no – but he looked very worried – the look on his honest face made me realise we were near the end – and sent her to our other friend Mike the pulmonologist, who checked her in. She was quite chirpy when we visited, but tired and in pain.
Then she came home on the 1st July – THANK GOODNESS – and spent her last four nights in her own bed, fussed over by us. No more pain thanks to morphine prescribed as she checked out of hospital.
She died early morning 5 July 2011. Last words; ‘Thank you. Love you Koosie!’
So we enter the 19km event at Karkloof on our pushbikes. Me n Jessie.
Aitch n Tom are going to do the 10km.
We head off and Jess does well, stays on her bike on some gentle uphills, no pushing.
Riding up one hill after 4 or 5 km we hear a whooshing sound, and a wheezing and a loud shoosh and huh and a muttered curse and I realise its not a train or a wind turbine, it’s an oke saying “Spekkies – howzit?”. Young David Hill, peaking this early. He’s let himself go, as they say, since last season when he did Tuli in Botswana and was a shadow of his former self, and is paying the price. Finds his bike has lost all its former zippiness.
We rode together a while, but then gravity took over and off went Hill downhill at an ever-increasing speed on his high-tech multi-shock softail plenty thousand Rand special just when Jess ran out of steam and decided to chill a bit.
Hill’s bike
After another few kays I realised I was probably leading my category and was in for a podium finish and a prize: First SLOBO home (Seriously Lazy Old Bald Optometrists division). Jess was OK on the downhills (if rather cautious) and slow on all uphills – including some sections of “Dad, come back and push my bike for me”. Even so, I thought I had the win in the bag and was rehearsing my acceptance speech when, with much creaking and panting, an OLDER, BALDER optometrist pulled up next to me and called out “Swanepoel!” It was young Graham Lewis, who, although MUCH older than me, was probably competing for my crown! I tried to delay him but he was eager to move on, so – although I could have blown his doors off – I let him go (on his twenty year old, unsprung bottle store delivery fiets, with his knees whizzing past his ears his seat was so low) as I had to wait for Jess. Ah, well, silver medal, I thought.
Lewis’ bike
Meantime, back at the 10km, Aitch was waiting for 24yrs of trouble on six legs – Tom and the Bainbridge twins Peter and Philip. And waiting, and waiting. Hordes of cyclists passed her as she looked back in vain. Fifty, sixty of the slowcoaches they had been ahead of went past. “Have you seen three little boys?” she eventually started asking. Someone had: “I saw three little guys lying down in the grass near the drinks table chatting away” said an observant soul. Back went Aitch to roust them out and get them back on their wheels. “We were talking, Ma” was the explanation.
Just before prize-giving I had a thought and scurried over to have a quiet word with the officials. “First SLOBO home: Swanepoel” came the announcement over the tannoy system, and I stepped onto the podium to receive gold – to tremendous applause. Lewis had been disqualified, and quite rightly so. He’s running the Comrades ultra-marathon again this year, which quite clearly ruled him out on the important “SL” part of the category. Justice had prevailed.
Years ago I wrote about my hairdresser then. She had more to do than my hairdresser now.
I went and saw her one day and realised I’d chosen the wrong time. Fergie was getting married to the porky ‘prince’ and all the ladies were glued to the telly, ooh-ing and aah-ing.
Bloody ‘Royal Family’ mania!
I can come back later, I offered.
No, its fine, she fibbed and set to trimming my locks, out of view of the Pomp-ing Ceremony.
Have you seen!? she asked in her pronounced Affies or Dirkie Uys accent.
No, not really interested, said anti-monarchist me.
Ag, Saah-ra looked so beautiful as she stepped out of the cart, she gushed.
~~~oo0oo~~~
– home hairdresser with Tiger –
Now my CURRENT hairdresser is something else. Saw her yesterday. Much less to do, but hey!
Presses her boobs against me; Stands with her thighs on either side of mine; Pats me tenderly; Fusses over me; Quite a performance. And charges me nothing! FREE haircuts for me.
Aitch is in Bloemfontein in a new rental Toyota Yaris. She’s working. She flew up from Durban so is not driving the company BMW 3-series she’s used to.
Feeling peckish, she drives to a take-away, but she can’t find the button for the window, so has to open the door to order and receive her double cheese burger (while the cat’s away the cat will play!)
Later she searches again. Where on earth have they hidden the window button? Not on the door, not on the centre console, not on the dash. Next stop is a hospital and there’s a boom, so she stops beforehand and conducts a thorough search. Doesn’t want to be caught at the boom with cars hooting behind her.
Oh! Here it is. A round knob attached to a handle and you have to actually go round ‘n round and wind the thing MANUALLY! Using your whole arm!
Who would have thought?! Whatever will they think of next?
Aitch takes the kids for lunch at a Spur restaurant with her folks – Gogo ‘Ona and Grumpa Neil. It’s two days after their joint birthday – they turned 7 and 11, so it was 2008.
TomTom is wolfing down a bowl of ice cream he has FINALLY been able to wheedle out of his Ma. She feels he usually eats a mouthful and wastes the rest, so he has to persuade her before a wish gets granted.
His Gogo watches and comments: “My, Tommy, you’re eating that ice cream quickly!”
Well, he explains, We don’t get offered it much in our home.
Aitch takes a weekly reading session at Livingstone. Usually she reads in the class and each kid gets a turn to come to her and read while the rest get on with their work under the teacher’s supervision. She slips Tom’s book near the top of the pile so he can get his reading done early and stop watching her reading with the others. She gives him a discreet hug as he walks up to her to which he stiffens awkwardly, turns his shoulder and glances to see if his mates are watching. He does NOT want to be teased!!
This week for once the reading was outside the classroom, and Mrs Button sent the kids out one by one.
SO: TomTom climbed on Aitch’s lap and gave her a huge hug, snuggled down and read both his books to her with full concentration!
Aitch’s grin was still fixed on her face hours later.
You can venture forth boldly and independently . .
Aitch doesn’t mess around. Suddenly a big marquee was pitched on the front lawn. What’s that for? I ask. We’re having a party, says me wife. Oh. OK. So tip-toe’ing discreetly past my half century mark is not going to happen?
Nope.
So I help the guys lay down a dance floor; and I carry chairs. And I carry chairs. Do we need so many chairs? I ask. Carry chairs, I’m told.
Then a minibus arrives and musical instruments are carried out – a trombone, a saxophone and a guitar – and one of the guys looks familiar. Big, braces, white hair. Mario!? I say / ask in amazement. Yes, says he in an Italian accent. What are you doing here? I ask, onnosel-y. He just smiles. I spose he’s used to that.
Mario Montereggi! When he’s not marshaling his Big Band, he runs a trio, Music Unlimited, for small events: Him on trombone, a guitarist and a saxophonist.
– Mario Montereggi’s trio –
WOW!! Aitch certainly does NOT mess around!
The theme was Africa, but Brauer thought it was Out of Africa, and of course he took it literally. You know how he is . .
– Aitch put it all together – she was much younger’n me –– the sax player charmed the kids –– especially TomTom –
Instead of a solemn speech full of half a century of carefully censored praise . .
– Terry and Pete exaggerating –
Terry and Pete sang a song full of scurrilous exaggerations – and duped the rest of the mense into singing the chorus! Everyone knows Billy Joel’s Piano Man tune . .
– Brauerr song PFS 50th –
– hoodwinking everyone into singing along! – – lucky to have my folks, 77 and 83 present –
Then Jonathan and Aitch said some words and I had to correct everyone and put them straight.
– after Jon and Aitch spoke I had to leap up to defend my reputation –– good peeps gathered –– PFS 50th –
We once had a robbery. In 2005 at 10 Windsor Avenue.
We got home to find the place ransacked. Waddaya mean “How did we know?” – when Aitch was there we were tidy! And later Cecilia kept the place tidy.
Turns out Aitch’s jewellery (including her sapphire & diamond engagement ring) was missing, which was no biggie – she didn’t even replace much once the insurance paid us. AND her Zeiss binocs! Now this was a bigger deal! She loved her binoculars and used them A LOT. She replaced them!
Years earlier at 7 River Drive she had decided they had been stolen and I said “No, we’ve just mislaid them”. After a long time I had to concede: “OK, they probably are gone, but we may have lost them.” I hate saying “stolen” unless I really know that!
Well, they turned up about two years after they first went missing – in the back of our socks shelf!! ** blush ** . . .
But this time they really were gone and SO:
She got a brand new pair of Zeiss Victory FL T* 8X32 ‘s!!
UNFAIR!
Mine are 10X40’s – lovely, but a generation older. Lens coatings not as good; not nitrogen-filled; not sealed to the outside world like Aitch’s new ones are.
They have a story of their own:
I bought them around 1984 for R1800 having refused to pay R750 about a year before, as that was outrageously expensive! I loved them and they did me proud, but in 1997 they needed some TLC. I decided reluctantly to have them serviced by Zeiss based on their 30yr guarantee. The rubber covering was loose and the eyecups were tight. The optics weren’t as sharp as new either. I was very reluctant to give them to Zeiss as they were a bunch of incompetent beer drinkers in my view. They were useless in their service to optometry, the other labs beat them hands down on service and quality. So I decided what I’d do is personally go to the head office in Johannesburg (JHB) and hand them to the MD and go with him to the technician who would be in charge. I forget the MD’s name. The technician was Thomas Provini. We arranged they would be given back to the MD who would phone me and on my next trip to JHB I would collect them personally. DO NOT POST THEM, I instructed / pleaded. I trusted the post office as much as I trusted Zeiss!
They sent me a quote by ‘telefax’ – Two new cups R120; Dismantling and cleaning, repair focusing system, glueing rubber protection onto it, cleaning of all lenses and final inspection R558. Total R678. Not small money those days, but the price of the binocs had kept going up as the Rand weakened, so I said yes please.
I forget how long they were meant to take, but when that time had gone past and gone longer and no word from Zeiss, I phoned the MD. My binocs ready yet? What? Didn’t have a clue. Bad sign. I reminded him of everything we had agreed on and he said Ja Ja he would get back to me. He didn’t. I phoned again. He still didn’t know. I started jumping up and down, cursing the day I had handed them in. I should have trusted my instincts and never gone near them! Then a lady phoned – a Mrs Adams, I think. The MD chickened out of doing the phoning himself, the rat fink.
‘We posted them to Port Elizabeth.’ WHAT!? Why? ‘Oh, we thought you were from Port Elizabeth.’ NO! My arrangement was Do NOT Post Them. Let me speak to your damn fool MD. He was unavailable and remained unavailable till I flew to JHB and confronted him. ‘Oh, but we thought you were in PE!’ ‘And anyway,’ he blustered, ‘Someone signed for them, so we have done our part.’ Can you EFFING believe it?
The stupid incompetent beer-swilling bastard had lost my precious binocs and was trying to dodge responsibility! Eventually I had to pay in an amount of R1850 (how did they get to that arbitrary figure, I wonder?), and got a new pair. SONS OF BITCHES!
I still have that 1997 pair,* but I use mainly Aitch’s newer lighter 8X32 Zeiss Victory FL T*’s.
No doubt about it, as we used to joke as students, Zeiss ist Scheiss! We didn’t know it then, but it was true.
Trish (Aitch) and 5yr-old Jess made a paste-and-cut album when we got back from our trip to five Southern African countries. I found it lying around so thought I’d photograph it and paste it here as a gallery. Hope you enjoy.
We’d had supper and imbibed a few with Rita and a gang of her – now also our – friends and were on our way to a club, recommended by the guys. A number of Rita’s friends are gay and call her their ‘Fag Hag.’ Wicked humour abounds, they know everything, we’d been to the ‘in’ restaurant of the moment – You know, a ‘ooh, you need to book well in advance, but I know the owner,’ type of place – and were on our way to the ‘in’ club. Much hilarity in the rented car.
I was driving and Aitch was directing, her being a Cape Town local, so she’s assuming navigational duties, forgetting she gets lost on land and is only accurate when at sea with a sextant in hand and no land in sight. At an intersection she said, “Go straight,” which elicited an immediate chorus of, “NO! We don’t say that! Gaily forward! Gaily forward!” from the guys.
Mt aux Sources, winter 1998. Younger sis Sheila organises a gang to summit the peak. Lots of people. Sheila can organise!
Ann Euthemiou brings two strapping nephews as sherpas to haul her four-poster double bed and duvet up the chain ladder, like this:
I think they may have carried Annie up the ladder too, but I’m not sure, don’t quote me, nê.
I hand out my special patented paklightna snacks at all stops on the way up.
Once up the chain ladder, Sheils insists we camp in the most exposed spot on the escarpment, where the howling gale leans our little dome tents at 45° angles and threatens to roll them away like tumbleweeds. Aitch goes to bed before me as ballast to stop the tent from rolling away! I have to bravely endure the gale a while longer to finish the Old Brown sherry. Late at night, Doug n Tracey Hyslop fight off imaginary intruders, Doug adopting a martial arts stance and shouting in stern Japanese that put them to flight.
Next morning we find out why Sheil had insisted on our bivouac location: That’s the sunrise view from our tent. Hmm . . OK Sheila, spectacular and well worth it. Local knowledge at work.
– sunrise between the Eastern Buttress and Devil’s Tooth –
On top I collect delicious reciprocal snacks from all and sundry who carried heavy packs up all the way up, while I had lightened mine.
Chilly, windy, glorious mid-winter morning in one of our very favourite spots of childhood memory.
Lovely outing, lovely people.
– ___, Sheila – who brung Old Brown sherry – Doug & Tracy Hyslop and me –
Peering down at the Tugela Falls – one of the highest waterfalls in the world:
– me, Sheila and Bets Key in front –
Here’s what the falls look like in a fly past by some enterprising glider pilots:
~~oo0oo~~
It might not have been on this trip, but on a trip up to Mt aux Sources I saw an interesting fly hovering at a flower. I had a good look, memorised him and went searching the internet. Here he is (or a close cousin):
I found a wonderful site – an Aussie Michael Whitehead who does research in Australia and in South Africa. He has some beaut pics of proboscis flies like this one – called Prosoeca ganglbaueri.
When the new boy moved in I experienced times of being firmly relegated to 2-IC, second-best, sidekick, supporting cast – in Aitch’s life. Me and TC had to step back as she fell deep and hard in love with Matt. Here’s when she found and chose him:
He was not glossy, so we called him Matt.
Then he grew. And his coat became glossy on the expensive vet’s food Aitch fed him. He was at the tail-end of the docked-tail era.
This was back when these dogs were our children (prior to adopting two of the longer-lasting, more expensive, less appreciative, two-legged kind!).
I found Matt on the freeway late one rainy night. He was probably after an intriguing new smell which enticed him out (he hadn’t wandered before). He was a growing boy, after all! Hit by a car on the M13 when he went loping off thinking “Love Is In The Air”, he was dead. His collar with our details on it was still attached.
We shed tears. I dug his grave. We buried him in the garden.
Then we got a lawyer’s letter and the guy who hit him sued us for the damage to his car. He was entitled to do that, and we paid. Felt crappy, though.
True love – Aitch & Matt; Matt about 1989 to 1991.
