Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Super Hen Power

(Original post from: white_granny.iblog)


aliance_7065

Supper Hen Power

(Please note that Winnie’s photograph has been added and that there is, to my knowledge, no such an alliance and never has been.)


If our three female politicians can pool their resources together, South Africa will have a force that is hard to beat.


They all have skeletons in their closets, but so have most of the world leaders, today.
If our three ladies can put their differences aside and form an winnie-helen-patricia sisterhood no army will be able to stop them.

They will have, behind them, the powers of the black, white and colored communities.

So Winnie murdered a few people and Patricia threatened to take the houses from the white people, and Helen got on everybody’s nerves at times, But together they can bring South Africa to unity.

rainbow SA

Patricia “is nie op haar bek geval nie” and I shall never forget how hard Winnie fought for Nelson to be freed.

I lived overseas and all we read about is Winnie’s campaigns to free Nelson.
Helen is our ‘weergawe” of the British Maggie Thatcher.

I would like to see a photograph with all three ladies drinking a cup of tea (or a glass of mampoer) while planning South Africa’s future.

I can imagine my husband mumbling: “God forbid” , when he reads this post, “rather the devil you know than political hen pecking”

Of wat praat ek alles

(non related article)

(non related article)

Friday, February 26, 2010

What the eye can see makes the mouth waters


24-02-2010



My front door was open.
We never have the front door open anymore, because if we leave it open every vagrant that passes by comes and ask for something and we have to listen to untold stories of sadness.

It was a bit stuffy in the room and I decided to open the front door just for a short wile to get some air in the room.

I was 'smagging' for something to drink so I took the last lovely cold fruit juice from the fridge.
I was standing well back, facing the security door and enjoying the fresh cool breeze from the door, while sipping my fruit juice, when the dog's bark alerted me to the free-paper delivery boys.

Knowing that begging is a side line for them, I hastily hid my cool drink, not wanting to put any ideas into his head.

I was hoping he did not notice the open door and deposits the stuff in the letterbox as he normally does.

No chance, he was on the doorstep and still hoping that he would just greet me and deliver the newspaper, I went to the door with the normal smile and greeting.

He gave me the newspapers then asked for a cool drink.
How in the warm place did he see me sipping the drink?
My last fruit drink.

I said that I only have half a bottle left, and he said its OK he will have it.

I gave him the hidden drink and closed the door.

I long for the days when I could leave my front door open in peace.

Later we found the empty cool drink bottle together with other junk next to the flattened plants in our front garden where he decided to picnic.

En nou praat ek nie twak nie.





Thursday, January 28, 2010

Ag man! Dis lekker in die Army,


Original post from the white-granny blog



When I lived in Australia, my father used to send me some Afrikaans tapes which he recorded from the radio.
When I worked the 9-5 shift the traffic from our home was first gear and stop all the way to work.
A 10 min journey took an hour.
It was the best time.
I used to make flask of coffee. Put my vehicle in first gear and drove it like an automatic car.
No gear changes. It was a straight road so there was no need to turn. Just stop and start.

I rolled down the windows (No crime in Brisbane in those days)
Poured my coffee;
Spread the newspaper over the steering wheel. (No cell phones back then)
Then I turned the tape recorder on and listened to my Afrikaans songs while I read the newspaper and drank my coffee ……… and drive.

Here is one of those songs from Chris Blignaut (I think). I am not 100% sure of the words.

I shall have to scratch my old Chris Blignaut tape out somewhere.

—————————————————————-

Ag man! Dis lekker in die Army,
van Tempie tot Grootfontein!
In ‘n ratel op Otavi,
of hoog in ‘n bos aeroplane.
‘n Rang wil ek nie dra nie,
net ‘n R1 hier styf langs my sy.
Ag man, dis lekker in die army,
en ‘n troepie die wil ek graag bly.

Een Woensdag het ek ge A-wol
Die rugby offisier was vies
toe laat hy my pale toe leapard crawl
en ek word vir die DB gekies
‘n rang wil ek nie dra nie
net ‘n R1 styf teen my sy
Ag man dis lekker in die Army
net’n troepie wil ek graag bly

As jy van die kos dalk siek word,
wat jy innie army kry.
Wees bly dat jy daarvoor betaal word,
hulle moemit jou danger-pay.
Ek spaar dit en vergeet dit,
in ‘n bank en daar lê dit doodstil.
En as ek uit ge-clear het
oop ek wat ek begeer het,
dis ‘n ding wat hier onder my brul.

Koor
Ag man! Dis lekker in die Army,
van Tempie tot Grootfontein!
In ‘n ratel op Otavi,
of hoog in ‘n bos aeroplane.
‘n Rang wil ek nie dra nie,
net ‘n R1 hier styf langs my sy.
Ag man, dis lekker in die army,
en ‘n troepie die wil ek graag bly.
As my pa wil dan sal ek hier bly!

---------------------------

The song in this post is about voluntary army training in order to protect the country against terrorism.

The thought that comes to mind is that many things that is normal during war time, becomes crime during peace time.

The enemies of war become your friends of tomorrow.

So why do people not just skip the fighting and resolve their differences.

At least you will have more chance of living out your life to the full.


Of wat praat ek alles?

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

My "koffie lus" is gone.




I have been having writers block for about a month now; Ever since before my operation.

I think they removed my brain with the gallbladder. Those little ‘klippies’ in the bottle is possibly my ‘verkalkte’ brain.

Luckily I can eat anything now. Even curry. I ‘het die dokter die dood voor die oë gesweer,’ if I could not eat curry.
The only problem is that I can not get a taste for coffee.
I really ‘lus’ that coffee, but it does not taste nice. I even tried it black.
I tried Ricoffee, Nescafe and Jacob Kronen but in vain. My coffee taste buds are gone but my brain does not want to accept it.
I am an addict.
Perhaps I must get my friend to hypnotize me into thinking it tastes nice.

My little ‘coffee and muffin’ stolen moments are gone: poof – ‘in sy glorie’

So what is the moral of this story? There is none. I write rubbish because of my writers block.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Die ou bees. Old cow?




So I am fat. I am a happy fat person. I love cooking and eating. I have a fat husband and a fat cat and a fat dog and we all like to eat nice food.

What I don’t like is the medical term the doctors give to fat people.
OBESE!

Well, being Afrikaans obese sounds like an “ou bees” which might as well be an old cow.

So whenever I go to the doctor with some medical problem or another that he can not solve, he says it is because I am such an old cow. (Obese)

Of wat praat ek alles

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Being hollowed out

The truth/lie about stomached ulcers.




Being a retired person, one has time to enjoy life’s experiences, whether they be work or family related.

This morning, while pondering over my possible last fatty breakfast of coffee, bacon, eggs and buttered toast, my mind examined every tasty mouth full of food. I chewed every morsel of bacon, egg and toast until it became fluid, in order to extract each and every flavoring particle for the absorption by my taste buds.

I am not sure if I will be able to enjoy the nice crispy bacon fat mixed with the yoke of the nicely fried egg again.
It tasted like the best breakfast I ever had.

My mouth welcomed it, my esophagus carried it happily to my stomach and my gallbladder said: 'let’s get to work breaking this fat load down while we can'.

Every part of my anatomy was happy and the last remnants of the tasty breakfast still linger in my mouth.

So why all this fuss over a little breakfast? Why this post?

As from now I am on a diet of clear fluids prior to gastroscopy and colonoscopy procedures tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow a little camera will be passed into my stomach and bowel to exclude any nasties, like cancer or polyps, prior to removing my gallbladder, which is believed to be the cause of the chest pains that feel like heart attacks, which I have been having...

Personally I think they have the ‘kat by die stert beet’ but then that may be one of those labels the doctors put on patients who do not want to accept their medical conditions. That label called 'denial'.

Just last week I had another imaginary label stuck to my forehead, by my GP, when I described my gastric and chest discomfort. That one was called ‘Hypochondria’.

A nice name for a baby: Imagine saying ‘Hypochondria go and do your school work’

My name is no longer ‘Hypochondria’ because I now suffer from a

‘delayed bile flow condition’ due to a gall-stone. So they say.

So I have a little gall-stone. So what? It is mine, it does not necessary need to be removed, so I redekavel. Surely if my gall-bladder was so troublesome, why can I enjoy this large breakfast of bacon and eggs so much?

The surgeons of today are far too eager to chop people’s body parts out because they feel it is not essential to health.
They think God created people full of needless spare parts, it seems.

I think it is man who is unable to understand the full glory of God’s creation. One day, perhaps we will understand just how vitally important each and every organ in the body is and aim to preserve, or replace it, rather than ‘chop it out’.

I was fifty when they chopped my uterus and ovaries out, pushing me into menopause overnight.
I was told that it was better to remove it because it would cause problems later in life.
(The removal of the ovaries was due to a surgical accident but that is another story).
The argument, at the time was that I did not need it anyway.

They possibly took my appendix out too because they believed that I did not need it either.

If they could they would remove my tonsils because ‘I do not need it’

Now the surgeons are about to remove my gallbladder because it is not necessary for health.

Soon I shall be like an empty vessel that can only make a lot of noise. (So I shall still have my tonsils – I hope)

Anyway, what this post is about is what I was thinking while I ate my last fatty breakfast. I was pondering on the mechanics of eating.

The food enters your mouth then it gets mechanically mashed by your teeth.
The more you chew your food, the less work your stomach has to do in order to break it down.
One can assume that people that chew their food well have to secrete less stomach acid.
Failing to chew food well will place a strain on the stomach which has to break those hunks of un-chewed food down chemically. (Using a strong acid)

Un-chewed food remains in the stomach longer, because an acidic chemical process is needed to make the food useable to the body.

The food beaks up in the holding-tank (stomach) and gets released in small amounts, as it digests, also causing a hold-up in the gallbladder (that has to break down the fat) and the pancreas (that breaks down the sugar and other nutrients)

Can you see how by neglecting the simple process of chewing food properly, we can have such a host of other gastric stress and congestions.

We all know that stress causes ulcers. We know the bigger the hurry, the faster we eat.
Acids can burn through the bowel linings and cause ulcers.
The shorter the time that food remains in the stomach the less chance there is of developing ulcers and indigestion.

Perhaps if stressed people can only take time to eat regular small meals and chew each mouth-full to a masticated pulp before swallowing, many stress-gastric symptoms can be avoided.

Chewing food well, from childhood, can possibly prevent obesity, stomach cancer and a host of other gastric problems in later life.

Eating and chewing with consciousness can possibly be a key to a longer life. Think about it.
It could prevent being surgically hollowed out in old age.

Perhaps parents should train their little children to chew their food, rather than delight in seeing an empty plate.

So mum, next time you hurry your little one through his plate of food, consider the surgical problems you may be training him to have later in life.



Of wat praat ek alles.

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