In a Shadow 


Winter has been very cold. The warmth has come from my kitchen. This house has no heat, except what I extract from it, or rather what I put into it. 

The shimmer was lost on me, I don’t doll myself up. I don’t wear make up. I live in my work uniform. Usually I would shine on a Sunday, but I don’t anymore, its wasted on my partner, who prefers to tell me how he’d like me to look, as opposed to loving every part of me including my lovely leather apron he bought Me…

It has a way of creating a chasm in our home. It reminds him I aim to make my kitchen a centrepiece of our lives. My kitchen is after all my stage and I am its Diva. I love cooking and baking and it irks him that I have a space he cannot compete with. He can’t, it brings me so much joy, he can’t ever win.. Sadly he compensates with shimmering flow, i don’t partake as I made a choice long ago I would not be her. I won’t sacrifice my spirit for meaningless banter over a shot of something. Sorry but banter is supposed to be light, airy, free, bright & happy. Not nitpick, insult, groan, envy & contemptuous. 

I wash my hair, he says it looks better when its dirty. I wear a dress he looks, then walks away without a word. It struck me tonight after he spent hours outside drinking in his car, that you can’t compete with the shimmer of a drink. Illusion is perception in its shadow. He trots in and expects attention I halfheartedly give, if only to keep him away from our 3 year old who doesn’t deal well with intoxication. 

This beautiful sibling of our 4 other children, the youngest, is bold like me. He doesn’t back down and cower in the face of a adversity. He is stubborn, bright & lives everyday to the fullest. He does have vices- he uses foul language, is demanding, busy, craves attention….

This Sunday like all the others is just an end to a cycle we rewind every week and redo again. ” I’m sorry, I have stress, I don’t like crying, I need to get somewhere, I don’t understand, I don’t want to be here, I can’t watch a movie if you people talk, I want what I want now, I don’t care- a man is a man, I told you not to do that, I will change if you stop nagging….

Shimmer until you illuminate this space and ignite with flame your dreams, don’t despair, your candle has a wick that can burn as long as you keep it lit. 
To translate this page copy our web address, click on the language you want, paste our URL at the top of the page and click search

Bahasa Indonesia
Other languages

August “Women’s Month”


No matter the shape, the bristles go about their work vigorously brushing away all the debris. 

Our teeth, tongue, gums all get a once-over. Yes the toothpaste, salt or bicarb bubble up & cleanse, providing the active ingredient necessary to facilitate this harmonious, sometimes aggressive activity to clean, freshen your breath, eradicate bacteria, so you may go about your business. Sometimes your toothbrush is a stick or such if this modern tooth is inaccessible.

This toothbrush has many uses, gets into crevices, tiles, washing machines, drawers, etc. making the longevity of this tool quite a handy hack. 

Much like a woman. She has many uses!!!! OK. Maybe uses is the wrong term. She is versatile, adaptable, jack of all trades, nurse, mother, partner, wife, punching bag– always on the wrong side of right, protects, cloak’s, a fortress against injustice, friend, sponge– she absorbs many feelings, takes a lot of flack, mops up our mess, inflates our ego’s, wipes away our tears, enfolds us in our pain or grief. Cook, nanny, lover, goddess, the list is endless.

I don’t want to be compared to a toothbrush, but… I quite find the tenacity in context very appealing in terms of strength, courage,  reach….

One of my all time favourite singers, the late Whitney Houston was born in August. 

I get emotional as we reach August month….

Women mean a great deal to me, I think it has alot to do with my Da’, he’s mother, grandmother, aunties, wife- my mother, daughters, etc. Women always bring out his heart, he cherishes them. I quite like the fact that my charismatic father loves women & their plight. 

He doesn’t worm his way, he truly adores them, respects & honours them, even the ones who disrespect him. He has a strength, a warmth, a complete understanding, though he does fret at times when my mom is stressed or such. We are 3 sisters & 1 brother & I am happy we are who we are, with many thanks to our Da’. 

I just wish I could get the money we need & the hands we need to fix his car. He’s a pensioner, who together with my mom, takes care of my two older son’s, they lost their dad 15 yes ago. 

I envision winning the lotto & sorting everything out for him & my mother. 

They go out of their way for me, encourage, guide, motivate, correct….

This month of August I want to make a difference in the lives of other women. Perhaps I should make a difference in my own…..

We launch the “Give Women a Break Campaign”. Humbly put it is just a gesture of goodwill towards struggling women, who maybe with one 3 course meal as a gift will be able to enjoy the company of her immediate family without having to worry about how she’s going to put that meal on the table… It’s success lies in the hands of other women who will hopefully purchase one of our meal or savouries combos & be willing without prejudice to nominate a women in need… 

  I must admit, I do worry, for many women visit our page but are yet to purchase any of our fare…

To translate this page copy our web address, click on the language you want, paste our URL at the top of the page and click search

Bahasa Indonesia
Other languages



​​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. 

 translate this page copy our web address, click on the language you want, paste our URL at the top of the page and click search


Potential & Possibility


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.

To translate this page copy our web address, click on the language you want, paste our URL at the top of the page and click search

Fight Within 


Figuratively speaking a bottle is a negative load of nothing in our house. This bottle is a seductress who challenges our sanity, taunts our ph balance. 

This object of desire usurps my authority & the integrity of my nature constantly. She is an evil who drives a wedge between love of & love for anyone who matters. She is constant in her temptation, she is relentless, stroking an ego so insecure, that I wish at times that bottle I could smash & strike a blow so bloody it’s presence would frighten the day-lights out of my love, who cannot after much trying, find the willpower to fight against its power. For the contents of a bottle holds such confidence for a weak, bold, anguished soul that the fight this family has at staying together is reaching a fragile state. Children caught in the middle of substance abuse are emotionally neglected by the family who struggle daily to have peace, so longed for, that it keeps you wide awake in your dreams when you see the destruction of morals, of bounderies, of responsibility & accountability for actions you can deny in your wake from slumber induced by a body no longer capable of binging on that bravado of the bottle that’s been your friend for eons. A friend who holds your hand in a remorse no longer believed. 

It is sad that the norm is a taste I can no longer take, it makes us nauseous just the reek on a breath, it turns a once lovely home into a battlefield of will…


To translate this page copy our web address, click on the language you want, paste our URL at the top of the page and click search

Bahasa Indonesia
Other languages



So to my personal platform I come… 

Its bin a month of ups & downs. A few actually. 

You know when you set out to overcome hurdles & despite your resolve it seems the road dips very low. In fact in celebrating Freedom Day & the upcoming Workers Day its been pretty unsteady, you know the kind where you keep holding onto the ground & it keeps slipping under you. Almost as if you thought you arrived but it was only a dream. 

The thing that’s kept me focused, the one physical thing has been cooking. Making a melody of fillings for pies, etc… The notes never faltering, the flavour precisely what you’d had on your tongue… 

We had a cancellation after we’d started a new order.. I took my stand. This gave me much confidence, for my first collision with a negative client left me feeling completely deflated back in March and though that person keeps posting horrid comments on my posts, I breathe, I pray for Sustainance. The kind that builds up your willpower & cloaks you.

Turmoil is what aches in my dreams, we have hands guided by our hearts. These hands of mine & Jade’s, swollen at times with the effects of sugar or the acidity of lemon, potato or onion peeling doesn’t diminish our aspirations to successfully build relationships with our clientele. These people are so warm, generous of spirit, mind- blowingly kind, that it irks me when someone so cruel – selfish – infantile – deceptive – vain – narcissistic, tries every couple of weeks to rattle our dream and not just any dream…  But the one where we become completely independent of our environment….that has been motivation number 1….number 2…

We have discovered since June last year how beautiful it is to shape someone’s vision. Yes we had a bad run with the wedding drama in March but your constant badgering, defaming, dishonest floating out of control moral compass to save mankind, with your so called community consumer watchdog” facebook smeering campaign would have been justified were we solely responsible for its failure. ⌚⌚🗽⏳. Time and time again the truth sets you free in such a way, that any action from a venemous heart will record empty results, people are not blind or deaf, they have an innate sense of someone’s character, aura, spirit….it is the Shepherd who watches the flock so to speak. 

Get behind me Satan.. 

I will fall..

But I will get up…

Unmoored our actions may sometimes be, but conscience is an anchor that holds my hand so I may act always without negligence, dishonesty, reason or vanity.  

To translate this page copy our web address, click on the language you want, paste our URL at the top of the page and click search

Bahasa Indonesia
Other languages