mani-pedi mayhem in nyc

I’ve wanted to come to New York for as long as I can remember. Having watched countless episodes of Friends and Sex and the City I feel like I know the place already but there’s just no substitute for being here in the flesh.
I’ve crossed the East River via yellow cab, visited the famous Serendipity cafe and meandered the streets of the Lower East Side. However, my highlight thus far is, undoubtedly, my $20 mani-pedi experience.
My close friend and tour guide, BB, insists I join her at…uuhhmmm…I think it is just called ‘Nails’…for a bargain manicure and pedicure. Harbouring a strong dislike towards people touching my feet, a pedicure has never been on my list of enjoyable experiences. Nevertheless, the disapproval I receive when suggesting I simply have a manicure leads me to agree to the full works and I am ushered to a massage chair by a somewhat militant beautician. As I sit back to enjoy my pamper session I start to feel a fierce thumping on my back. I swear the chair has grown arms and is targeting every stress induced knot from my shoulders down. As I shift to distribute the pain and fight with the controls, the beautician dips my toes into a boiling hot spa only to realise her error when my foot emerges ruby-red. I maintain my composure until she comes at my sole with a pumice stone, at which point I began to giggle through the torturous, ticklish pain and wrench my foot away from her. I’m subsequently shunted to a manicure table where my finger nails are attacked with a file and my cuticles hacked away at viciously. I only register the extent of the damage when I notice my friendly manicurist painting over my very own blood. Secretly wishing for the process to end soon I’m manoeuvred to a nail dryer which seems to take longer than expected and is switched onto ‘heat’ mode. No prizes for guessing what sort of pain this inflicts.
As we gather our belongings to leave the manager checks my nails and on conclusion that they are not satisfactorily dry, she begins to wrap my toes in cling film. Yes, just like you would do to leftovers.
We leave the salon in fits of laughter marvelling at the cling film sticking out the sides of my shoes and I am overwhelmed by a strong nausea induced by the massage chair releasing toxins, from stressed muscles, into my system. Unfortunately the wrapping efforts are futile too and the polish smudges irreparably.
All that mayhem but…you know what? I would pay it again. Because that sort of entertainment is simply priceless.

hope for a little girl far away

Today I received an email from a friend of my grandmother’s that touched my heart so deeply I cried for the next three hours. Rather than do his email an injustice I have copied it below.

For some reason I cant get this thin little child with all these scars on her face and body, loving her scruffy little puppy out of my mind. So this Thursday I am going back to find her, to see if I can make her life a bit more comfortable.You see she has never had a new pair of shoes or new clothes or Kentucky…all the things we take for granted.

No child should have to go through life with scars like this but that would need a world of people to help. This photo would need to go around the world to find the person who can fix her, or maybe we can all change our profile picture on Facebook to her so she can get help, or if we can get her on Idols people can vote to save her life.

But none of that is going to happen. At the end of the day its me and the other person who is reading this e-mail that can help change her life in a small way, because I cant delete them because I held them.

Never Give up on Life

Mike

That little girl lives in a township in South Africa and I don’t even know her name. But I do know that when Mike finds her on Thursday I want him to be able to tell her that someone who lives very far away from her wants to buy her a new pair of shoes. 
I hear many stories of poverty and regularly expose myself to these in order to maintain an outward focus and ensure I don’t get caught up in my own world. Yet something about this little girl really struck a chord. I think it is harder to ignore just one than it is to turn your attention from a problem too big to handle. And as I cried over her photo and looked at her smiling face, despite the obvious pain she once must have endured, I knew I could not turn away from this one. I know that this time I don’t just want to send a bit of money to clear my conscience, I want to know this child’s name, I want to know her story and I want to know how I can help to change her life. If anyone reads this and you too are interested in getting involved please contact me. As I type this I feel energised at the thought that, for once, there is something we can do to change someone’s life for the better.

more than my own personal waterworks

I know I’m just a big softie but I found myself bubbling like a baby each time one of those Chilean miners emerged from underground on Wednesday, jubilantly embracing everyone around them. I’m not sure what exactly set me off but seeing people so excited that these thirty-three ordinary men had been rescued and watching the heartfelt family reunions really tugged at my little heart. For once, it was so refreshing to switch on the TV or read the papers and it was just a flow of good news, all day.
Today is another day which goes some way to restore my faith in humanity. On this day, bloggers from all over are joining together for Blog Action Day 2010 to write about water issues in their communities and around the world.
So much of the time I am left feeling totally helpless about the vast issues facing our world. I simple bury my head and hope that someone will come up with some brilliant idea to make them go away. Today, however, I can play my tiny part and so can you by reading this post without nodding off.
A major issue that sets off my own personal waterworks is that nearly 1 billion people lack access to clean water, which causes a litany of struggles, diseases and even death. Every week, nearly 38,000 children under the age of 5 die from unsafe drinking water and unhygienic living conditions. How is that possible when we have so much excess and this is a solvable issue? Because those numbers are simply too big for us to really contemplate. The shocking statistics go on and on and they are real but we can do something. Did you know that it takes 24 litres of water to make one hamburger? It also takes 17 million barrels of oil to manufacture the bottles we use for bottled water, 86 percent of which will never be recycled. By simply making ourselves aware of the issues we can already start to counteract the problems.
So, will today be a day when you make a difference?

Blog Action Day 2010: Water from Blog Action Day on Vimeo.

my part on this globe

It's been the most glorious few days in London. Wonderful autumn sunshine coaxing Londoners to take a Sunday afternoon stroll in Richmond park and marvel at the falling leaves while blissfully disregarding the inevitability that this means we will soon be left with bare trees beneath cloudy, grey skies.
In my first week post-employment I have enjoyed a few 'London' outings myself, most significantly a trip to Shakespeare's Globe. I'm aware it is sacrilege for an English student to admit what I am about to commit to print. I've actually never been much of a Shakespeare fan. In fact, most of the time I have to do a spellcheck to ensure I've written his name correctly. Quite honestly, I just wish that he had, at least some of the time, said what he actually meant. Nevertheless, having an entire subject in my degree imposed upon me, devoted purely to the one widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist¹ I have started to warm to the guy's evasive ways and was actually quite excited to visit the Globe.
Once inside the pit, along with the other 'commoners', I began to imagine what it must have been like back in the days of the original Globe. As I laughed along with fellow audience members and my legs ached from standing for three hours I felt like I was participating in a timeless, very English, tradition.
As I strolled back over Southwark Bridge and glanced sideways toward Tower Bridge I marvelled at the dense history that this city offers and how, in a drop-in-the-ocean sort of way, I am somehow a part of that. A wise man once put it so eloquently: 'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.²' Now who was it again who said that...?

1 Is there anything that Wikipedia can't tell us?
2 Oh yes....Shakespeare wrote that in As You Like It

sweet smell of soetkoekies

One of my favourite outings as a child was visiting my Nans’ house for Sunday lunch. Nans and Gramps had a gorgeous big home that overlooked the river and a dining room that could accommodate our extended family. It wasn’t unusual to have at least sixteen people around the table and some spilling out of the door. Nans would be in the kitchen from 5am preparing the feast and still make it to a morning church service. Only in recent years, as I’ve dabbled a bit in cooking myself, have I truly appreciated the effort that went into preparing those extravagant meals for the multitudes.
When I knew that I was getting married, I asked Nans to please share a few of her renowned recipes. Most sought-after of these is the legendary ‘soetkoekie’ recipe. Rumour has it that an old lady, on her deathbed, told the recipe to my great-grandmother who then passed it to Nans who has shared it with a privileged few. On the day of my kitchen tea, Nans handed me a notebook in which she had lovingly jotted a number of her and my personal favourites. In the flurry of activities I skimmed the pages but in my excitement I failed to register that the soetkoekie recipe had, in fact, been omitted. When I later questioned Nans she replied that she was sure it was one of the first recipes she had included in my book. Subconsciously, I think she wanted to be the one who bakes the soetkoekies for me, carrying them through with my cup of tea on mornings when I stayed over at hers.
I’ve attempted a few of Nans’ specialities and while hers will probably always taste better, as soon as I smell or taste those dishes or treats I am transported back to Port Elizabeth, cosy in her living room or sitting around the dining table. I’ve also had to learn to tweak quantities slightly. While Fox and I both have healthy appetites, trying to make our way through milktart meant for twelve people or two dozen sweetcorn fritters just isn’t good for the waistline.
So, today, as I whip up a batch of tasty soetkoekies and the air is filled with the smell of sugar and coconut, I’ll send up a little thank you for the woman who is my inspiration in and out of the kitchen: my Nans.

blank canvas before me

I’ve shut down my computer one last time, packed my few personal belongings into a Tesco bag, hugged my colleagues, some of whom have become dear friends, farewell and let myself out of the building with a sense of finality. It’s the end of three years of hard work, much banter and laughs and a job that I genuinely loved (most days, like any other). I’m not even entirely sure why, but I know this is right. For months I have felt a restlessness that I need to start making space in my life, rather than simply trying to cram in as much as possible while still finding just enough time to eat and sleep.
Having bucked the trend and skipped university to dive headfirst into adulthood I’ve often felt like I missed out on a stage of life. Instead, I thrived on my freedom and by the time I thought I really should further my studies I knew I wanted my independence more. One year led to nine and here I am, years later, deciding it is time to further my education. Thankfully I have a wonderfully supportive husband who is happy to be adult enough for both of us while his “student wife” obtains her degree and bakes delicious treats when she is procrastinating.
As excited as I am, there is a part of me that naturally wonders who I am without a full-time job and the ensuing responsibility of being paid to use my time constructively. I guess I’m about to find out.
While I am allowing myself a dose of sentimentality, I am also giddy at the thought that before me is a blank canvas and between the Great Commissioner and I, I think something really beautiful could be created.