Oh my beautiful captor...

BEFORE anyone recommends a therapist, let it be known that I am talking about my dog. Ahh, now that I typed that I see that a therapist might still be required.

I got a puppy in 2007 – out of a cardboard box. An error of backyard breeding that no one wanted.  He was sickly and stayed that way for the first two years of his life. I cooked him chicken and rice, and sometimes I had to feed him with a spoon.

Eventually through good feeding and lots of love he thrived. And he got big...and bigger...and really rather huge now by normal standards. The thing is, he doesn't like to be away from me. Ever. He also doesn't like dog sitters, at all.

A little friend

Grows steadily bigger...

This behavior hasn't stopped, just ask what's left of my shoes...

Becomes a monster

Last year he was being babysat while I scooted off to watch Uriah Heep. He barricaded the door. That's right – he stayed in my room and moved furniture so that the door cannot be easily opened. He has now learnt to open doors and windows.

Of course when the door won't open he will do battle with it...he is usually victorious

He doesn't like to be out when we are away, and he likes-ish to be in with the option of going out should he feel the need to make absolutely sure we have in fact left. He howls like a wookie.

He can also be credited for putting me off The  Brandenburg Concertos permanently. After going into the vet to have a benign tumour removed he decided I am a shit dog owner and howled and felt incredibly sorry for himself. I tried to play him Bach to calm him down (hey, at 3am you'll try everything). It did not work, despite Bach's best efforts and mine too.

The next day the whole ordeal was almost totally forgotten.

He now comes to work with me.

Don't let his size, his hatred for doors, love for chewing shoes or criminal cleverness fool you. He is a big old cuddle-bottoms and he has been busted snuggling cats.

Tomorrow night we are having a blow-out with a few close mates for my 30^th. You guessed it – he'll be there too. It this Stockholm Syndrome?

He came to lunch today...

Of course if you are going to be held ransom by a dog, who wouldn't choose such a clever, quirky, handsome fellow?

Do it your way...

I am turning 30 tomorrow.

And I have done it my way. I even played drums in a band, badly.

This video reminds me to keep on doing it my way. I hope you guys enjoy x

PS: Keep rocking old Korean dude, you are a legend.

Revenge+FanFrockingTastic

So I have shared all the tawdry details of my love of turquoise and plum coloured eyeliner, but let’s face it – nothing motives you to take your body back more than being squeezed into a designer frock by a long-suffering sales person eager for a commission.

IN FACT, when you espy yourself in the mirror and you immediately notice all the lumpy parts that need attention you’ll be instantly cured of take-out and beer by the gallon.

It shames me to show you some half-hidden evidence. Too much info will scar you for life here:

Oh dear...

This is what happened to me this week. I was almost instantly cured. I have exercised daily since squeezing into this frock AND my lips have not seen a sneaky calorie that my body does not ABSOLUTELY require to function.

So here I am blogging about it with aching arms and a grumbling stomach but it WILL all be worth it.

Because this is a pseudo-foodie blog, here goes my first tip for a low fat recipe:

Firstly, throw out every morsel of tasty food you own – even if it’s low-fat and delicious (yes such a beast exists) you’ll be tempted to over-eat if it tastes too good.

Boil a chicken breast with some salt and herbs;

Boil some brown rice;

Steam some vegetables;

Wipe the tears off your face and eat your bloody dinner! There are children in Africa who are starving. (Like me, a sort of a child in Africa undergoing a bout of self-induced hunger. Note: I am not trying to sound unsympathetic, I blame low blood sugar.)

Now, just so that you know, I am not aiming to resemble a severe-looking model like those in the frock catalogues. Those girls look unhealthy and probably weigh as much as a malnourished kitten. When you can drape a full-grown woman head-to-knee in a large-sized tank top and her skin is transparent from lack of lustre something just screams toxic to me. The thing is, malnourished model ladies: we can all eat platefuls of chemicals and never sleep and have crisp hair and pray to all the gods that the graphics guy can photoshop you enough to look like you are vital once the deed is done.

But I digress. Over the last three years I have gained around one and a half a dress size due to a knee-injury, a fondness for sitting on my rear and reading novels and of course, cooking. Cooking and eating out, a lot. Daily even, sometimes.

So here I am, on the cusp of things, ready to free-weight, static cycle, swim and ride and Special K my way to a healthier self. I’ll walk for breast cancer, starving children, education, saving the rhinos – you name it.

Now, if I can just get off the couch…

Love+New Beginnings

TWO things have happened that had me so troubled and bogged down that I bowed out a little from the blogosphere. But you might as well be told about them now. We lost Eva to hip dysplasia. I think when you rescue dogs you never know, and this was a painful reminder of our own not-knowing and the frailty of our best intentions. She had to be let go, or else her suffering would have only gotten worse. My pain was immeasurable, loads of heaving sobs in bed, in the shower when I could be bothered to have one. No sleep, no food, eventually…barbiturates. I am no good at these things.

I take brother dog with me everywhere. We have each other. We take drives and go to work. I tell him he is smart and handsome. He is. He tries to get along with the kittens. He tolerates their cuddles and eyes them suspiciously. He doesn’t trust their energy and cheerfulness. He sighs a lot. He is too big to play with them.

Also, the farm burnt down. To cinders. The house and buildings were saved. All the animals survived but there was not a speck of green to be seen. The fire started three farms down, and spread about 100kms from there. By the time it reached Natal it was considered ‘unstoppable by human intervention’.  The forever pasture smouldered, the field-shelter was laid to waste.

The forever pasture and favourite tree burnt

What's left of the field shelter

The horses were shocked and bewildered. For days after the fire tree stumps smouldered, smoke hung in the air. Soot blew into the house via the gaps between the floor and the door, open windows, clinging to shoes. The worst part was the smell, the smell of burning. The neighbour lost ten horses. We needed to phone the doctor to get a script for our brave groom with singed facial hair, puffy red eyes and chest pain. He recovered 100%. We were desperately afraid – we’d have to buy in loads of grass, and quick. It was incredibly hard to find decent grass at the end of winter. We managed, in the end. We paid through our teeth for lucerne.

Horses and Adolf immediately after the fire.

The grass is up again. New grass. Amazing. My little garden is thriving. The shoots are turning into onions again, weapons-grade a usual. No less. Corn is growing in the vegetable garden space, there is lettuce and rhubarb in the ground. There is tarragon, basil, rosemary and oregano.  The begonias and violets are out, the jasmine has grown, the day lilies have taken over. A beautiful lily has come up and so has one lonely bush of marigold with wonderful deep orange flowers. The place teems with new life. The poppies have not returned, they are stubbornly still in the ground somewhere. I think they are too fragile for fires and loss.

Carrots?

Horses graze on new grass

Remember Yatan?

 And then it got even more lush:

December, mid-day heat

Masu, theeerrreeeee!

Begonia, basil, onions some pink flower bushy thing

I adopted a gray kitten and named him Yoshimoto. His litter mates’ adoptions fell through and we rescued them. I have no idea what we’ll do with these two extra bundles of life. Feed them, love them…

I flew off to Cape Town on business, I ate more than I should have got very little sleep and I travelled on plane, train, catamaran and rental car. It was amazing. I lived in the fairest Cape for four years as a student and my heart still recognises it as home. So I went home for the first time in six long years. I love you Cape Town.

I saw Uriah Heep, live in concert. They played outdoors on a beautiful escarpment. It was amazing.  New grass was growing while old music hummed around the intermittently rocky and then grassy spaces.

What a night!

We said goodbye to our first groom, he headed back to Zimbabwe to live with his new wife and their brand new child. New life, everywhere. This is the fifth year our living harbour has been in operation. Since 2009. Amazing.

For the New Years Eve I cooked gammon in ginger ale, and lamb in wine. I was joined by my oldest friend in this world – from that soviet-looking era, he calls it a ‘poor white farm school’ – with his delightful girlfriend who put on a fire poi performance. Kyle and Tristan was there too. It was a good time.

On February the 13^th I get to see Rodriguez live in Gauteng. In case you don’t know: Rodriguez is a South American rocker who rose to considerable fame here in South Africa. Recently they made a documentary about him, where South Africans went to look for him in South America, they found him… shortly after a rash of concerts were sold in SA. Good for him, I hope it lines his pockets for a while. We love you Sugarman.

I am starting an art class this month. Weekly and for two hours at a time. I am as excited as a child. My application inquiry read: complete novice with no talent would like to join art classes.

My favourite thing to cook this year has been plain-old breakfast and a delightful peasant stew I made with lamb leftover from the New Year’s roast. If you don’t know how to make potato bake with some milk and a packet of brown onion soup ask me how, it is amazing. My favourite read has been Lisa Klaussmann’s Tigers in Red Weather. I have discovered turquoise and the joys of frivolously buying shoes. I have bought plum coloured eyeliner.

I am turning 30 this month and I have lived in spite of everything. Happy New Year bloggers, may this year gleam as brightly for you as it does for me.

PS: Live in spite of everything, it’s the only way. And also: I’m back J