Shackle

Shallow 

​​The heart of the home is the kitchen!

Family’s wounds are meant to heal around the hearth, bonds strengthened, bridges built, tummies filled, with frowns evolving into laughter, little ones screaming with cries of excitement. No matter you have the aged wooden spoon, the electric beater or the whisk. Your meal & its outcome lies purely in your genius to not be anxious but rather sassy & focused, in tune with your eyes & your hands…

 
I have always loved being a Diva-licious cook. Food binds people and moments. These moments create memories that touch all of our senses. For me that’s what memories with my loves ones are made of…
 
This is an Ode to some of the best cooks I have known. Evelyn van Schoor. Allan Davis. Noreen Jethro. Amos van Schoor (Snr). Doreen Palm van Schoor. Estelle Davis. May they be shaking up the kitchen, rustling their pots in heaven… RIP. Until we meet again…
Please will you take the time to understand what this means to us.

We love sharing our journey with you, you of course are free to ignore my posts. This open diary isn’t a shallow ploy for attention. It runs deep when I can meet up with you outside my walls. Here is a prison of wants & needs. Mine: I want this family to reach further than satisfaction, they need to want more from our existance than just waking, eating, sighing, contemplating. They need to reach higher or deeper into their pockets of worth & expel fresh ideas, dreams, solutions or just let go of what isn’t there & create something new, not out of boredom, out of living.

Don’t waste precious time on situations or people who don’t want to be there, experiencing the warmth, the vibe, the growth we all made & haven’t noticed.

Aspire to be free. To grow

To laugh

To cry

To satisfaction

To love

To feel

To  recognition

To forgive

To be honoured

To be respected

To be left alone & not chastised for being you!!!!

Surely not a big ask? Shallow shouldn’t run through my veins. 

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Wngfdde

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Potential & Possibility

Bury

Your dreams are your own. It doesn’t always matter if others don’t share your enthusiasm. What matters is your perception of yourself, your trust in the vision you have & the distance you’re willing to take.

Journeys start small, they don’t end at any particular milestone, they give you the stamina to continue.

I many a time think of burying the past. I’ve made mistakes, faced disappointment, got discouraged. All my own making, OK not all but mostly. I remember when Anton was facing death, it was hard to face. I was working my butt off at a large lounge suite manufacturer at the time. I still love those days. I used to work late, and sitting in the taxi I used to ask God to make sure I was there when he died. I didn’t want a phone call…. I was lucky of cors that I got to be there when the the time came. He got alota visitors that day, my mom was feeling good, my Da’, oh my Da’ was a pillar of strength, still is.

You can’t always bury the past tho,  it haunts when you least expect it. Mine crawls into my dreams every now & then. I wasn’t a very patient person. Actually I’m still not, I get jumpy….

I like everything & everyone to fall into place with ease. I don’t want to explain how I want things, I want you to remember!

I want to forget sorrow, loneliness, despair & then I remember its those very things that enable positive turnarounds. You know ” the sunshine after the rain”.

Well a lot of rain falls here lately. Drenching us in cold, miserable cloaks, that drip, drip & keep us cold in our want for warmth, strong resolve, pleasure, happiness…

 But as long as we keep feelings buried beneath guilt, we can either drink or inject our pain away.

That seems to be the norm in our community anyway. You’re not good enough so you drink. You don’t fit in so you drink. You have hangups so you drink. I have to be honest. I feel if you pen your thoughts they might as well be honest? Unless you indulge in fantasy, whereby you have Cart Blanche to creatively embroider around the truth.

I live in a fantasy world, one where if I fight long enough people around me will change, improve, apologize, make amends. No here we don’t do that, we bury the truth & angrily defend our own right to mislead others. 
The next time I attend a funeral may I be so soberly drunk that I defy all decorum and spit out my truth, gently, softly without offence, if only to wake the next morning completely free, unburdened of guilt, happy, powerful, yes liberated & unafraid of confronting the corner I have yet to turn.

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