Posts tagged ‘Dare you to Move’

Three Months later

Three months later, and I am happy to report back.


I am not dead yet. Just very very tired.


But, in my moments of solemn thought and introversion (which happens more than what is healthy) I realise how much I miss blogging. Seriously.



I think of the silliest things to report on, and fail.



But you know? This time I am not going to try and win. I am just going to post when I can. and what I can.


Because I am a happier, more balanced person when I can put my saddies, funnies and Oh-crapsies on the internet for the whole world to see. *even you Jimmy*.


So I am back. For now.



And I love you.

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February 17, 2010 at 3:49 pm 5 comments

Holding Grudges

I have a few people I wish to inveterate in fiction. Those people that I can expound on every blackhead, fat roll and brown mole.

Them with their stubborn elitism with distinguished ignorance.

Those who use words which stand for hate. And disrespect.

and hypocrisy.

She, who would read my words and think it were her sister. Or mother perhaps.

But would never think it were her.

Oh sweet! How sweet would it be to tear them apart for their soulful hatred of one.

one.


The one who would inveterate them in fiction.

and laugh as she mocked her own family

as she mocked me.

November 6, 2009 at 5:11 am 2 comments

Breaking the silence

There is nothing worse than admitting failure.

Obviously.

But this time it is really sucky. I just can’t manage to keep this blog going anymore. For no reason than pure and utter laziness I have reduced myself from living only in the physical world devoid of virtuality and anonymity.

How insane is that?

So, if you are reading this… if my broken promises haven’t forced you to delete me from your blogroll… join in the sickness.

That’s right.

Do something in the real world that totally rocks your boat. I ate half a tub of rice crispies treats for no reason other than that they tasted really good. So take that virtual simulation… I have lived.

and now I feel a little ill.

November 2, 2009 at 6:05 pm 2 comments

Word Vomit (without a point…)

I don’t make friends easily.

<br>

I am not a nice person. I won’t thrill you with my wit or fabulous knowledge of Gucci.

<br>

I, more than likely, will have no stories to tell you about adventure or lust or betrayal.

<br>

I will probably scare the bejeebies out of you with my morbidity and over all dorkiness.

<br>

Because I am a dork.

<br>

And sometimes that scares me.

July 23, 2009 at 7:42 pm 4 comments

Home.

time is a cruel thing.

the days that i wish would go faster, crawl behind me.

the days i wish to slow down, zoom ahead.

evenually im left with only a handful of memories of people ill forget.

“I wish I were with you, I couldn’t stay…Every direction leads me away.
Pray for tomorrow, but for today…All I want is to be home.

Stand in the mirror, you look the same. Just looking for shelter, from the cold and the pain.
Someone to cover, safe from the rain. All I want is to be home

Echoes and silence, patience and grace. All of these moments I’ll never replace
The Fear of my heart is th absence of faith. All I want is to be home

People I’ve loved, I have no regrets. Some I remember, some I forget.
Some of them living, some of them dead. All I want is to be home.” -Home Foo Fighters

it s time for me to go home.

July 22, 2009 at 6:16 pm 5 comments

With Love

Today my thoughts are not on me. They are with those in Mozambique.

Last year this time, I was packing up from my trip to Panhame, a small village in the middle of Mozambique. I pulled out my album and took some time to think and pray for those I met.

Being an ex-Portuguese colony, there are cultural differences beyond white and black, wealthy and poor. They appreciated the stuff we brought, but the true joy they expressed was not in the toothpaste, medical supplies or blankets we gave, but in our message.

Someone in this world loves you and not only do we love you, but the Creator of the ground you walk on loves you more than you could ever imagine.

They wished more than anything to hear the hope we brought them. AIDS is ripping apart their country. The life expectancy and infanct mortality rates are the worst in the world. They didn’t want our blankets as much as they wanted hope.

And they found it in Jesus Christ.

I learned more about true joy in a little dusty village in the middle of nowhere than in my own life.


This isn’t the first time I’ve posted about this trip. I posted about it a week after returning home. and still couldn’t shake what I saw there. I posted again on the first of January 2009.

Definitive Moments– 1 January 2009

I have had several moments in my life that I place in my definitive category. Some I will never find words to express. Some are so deeply entwined in my core that to remove them, analyze them, and reveal them would strip them of their power.

But some of them only have power when stripped open. Some moments yearn to be shared. These have no shame. Like the beggar at the traffic light, they cry out to me. Sobs of fear, regret and desperation are met only by my own heartache and incompetence.

I had another dream about her. Her name was Sali and I first wrote about her here. Lately, she has been invading my subconscious, crying out to be shared.

I met her July of 2008 in a small village in Mozambique called Panhame. Her lifestyle is what you see on National Geographic with little comfort and even less guarantee of tomorrow.

Yet, she aroused no pity from me.

Sympathy, sure. “Man, somebody’s gotta do something” sure. Pity? No.

This does not mean that I am immune to the sadness of seeing impoverished people. I felt no pity because she felt no pity.

This was her life. She is 4 or 5 years old and herded her family’s goats. She helped her mother with the only meal of the day. She would probably never get an education or learn where babies come from before she was married. This was her life and, at her age, she seemed to accept her life in all its entirety.

I am no photographer but here she is:

And these are my words:

To the girl who aided my heart recovery:

Sali

The great expanse of dust packed still
By bare feet trampling
The shadows pool beneath Marula tree
And dusty rocks, undisturbed, watch

Sali toddle across the plain
Heavy laden, haunting eyes
And the beads and bracelets clanking

And she tumbles
Embracing shrouds
The dust- scarlet and steaming

Tear neglected she leapt
To chase the goat
And fade into the blackness.

I would love to share some photos with you of some of the beautiful children that have engraved themselves on my heart. My friends are in Panhame today, packing up their tents and saying goodbyes. Oh how I wish I could see how these kids have grown!

The Local Church Bell

The Local Church Bell



This bell would be rung everyday that there would be something happening in the village, usually in the morning. Several hours later the event (church, town meetings etc) would begin. Talk about African Time!

Local Transportation

Local Transportation



The local ladies still carry their heavy objects on their heads. But if something was too heavy for even a strong lady to carry, it would go onto this cart strapped to two donkeys.

The Local Church Building

The Local Church Building



I promised you pictures of cutie pies. Look closely and look at that little darling walking through the dust in the distance. She was absolutely stunning, but was so hard to pin down for a picture.

but there were plenty who enjoyed playing models for me!

She was so excited to see her photo after I took it!

She was so excited to see her photo after I took it!



She loved to mimic the younger girls on our team.

Don't let the warm clothes fool you. It pushed 45 degress in the daytime in winter!

Don't let the warm clothes fool you. It pushed 45 degress in the daytime in winter!



She is such a sweetheart.

She is such a sweetheart.



So beautiful.

Such Joy!

Such Joy!

With Love to those stunning kiddos in Panhame. With Love.

July 10, 2009 at 10:37 am 4 comments

The Vuvuzela

The Confed cup is underway with lots of noise! The wonderful *choke* vuvuzela has really been causing a ruckus!

The Vuvuzla:



is a plastic trumpet that when blown emits a high pitched blasting sound, much like a big air-horn on trucks, except maybe more irritating.

South Africans have being blowing these things by the droves, drowning out any commentary, music and thoughts of those in the stadiums and watching on the television.

Personally, I don’t give a damn about soccer. Or even the World Cup **may the government and its people not see that statement and throw me in Anti SA prison** But those cursed vuvuzelas can die.

I along with Basil Coetzee “find comments about this being a truly African experience condescending and patronising.” I would like to know how a PLASTIC TRUMPET is at all South African? What about this blasted noise maker is African in nature? It’s plastic. And a trumpet. It’s a gosh darn plastic trumpet.

Unless of course, the nature of South Africans is irritation, inconsiderate, loud and obnoixious. Only then would vuvuzelas be African. And that my friends is just ludicrous.

Isn’t it?

Sure I’ve heard the arguements for the Vuvs. I get that we can’t ban the shouting in England or the other ruckus’s in other countries, but for the sakes of the Wives of Soccer fans, please oh please… ban the vuvuzelas.

Please?


I need to protect my hearing for old age and things.

June 25, 2009 at 1:28 pm 7 comments

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