Thoughts and ideas

When we have courage to follow our hearts a whole new world can open up.

In 1930, my grandparents met at a New Year’s Eve party in Uitenhage.  My grandfather (Jack) was visiting a cousin and my grandmother (Iris) lived there.

The details of this night are limited, however what I do know is that my grandmother was at the party with her fiancé, Steve. At some point in the night she met my grandfather and told her sisters that he would be giving her a lift home and not Steve.

I wish that I had discovered this letter when they were still alive so I could have heard them tell the story.

The letter was the first letter my grandfather wrote to my grandmother after only knowing her for 10 days. Every time I read it I am reminded that real love does exist and can last.

Grandpa was in the army and went back to Kimberley while Granny stayed in Uitenhage.  They saw each other a year later so corresponded via letters. They got married three and a half years after meeting on 1 July 1933.  My uncle and two aunts were born before World War 2 and my mom was born a few years after.

Growing up we spent most weekends visiting my grandparents.  I remember how much they loved each other and treated each other with care.  There was never a harsh word spoken or a raised voice.

Granny was a true lady and an artist who painted beautifully in any medium she tried.  She always told my sister and I to be wary of “dirty potatoes” (that was granny code for men with bad intensions).  Grandpa was a woodwork teacher and enjoyed tending to the garden.  The hand-carved grandfather clock in my parents lounge was one of the last big projects he did.  He was a gentle and kind man.

He loved my grandmother in a way that couldn’t be described but it could be felt. He was devoted to her (and she was to him) until he passed away at age 89. They were married for 67 years. He was 19 when they met and she was almost 21.  Despite all odds and adversities, nothing could keep them apart. One promise made after only knowing each other for a few days changed their lives forever.

I have always used their love as a benchmark for how love could be and considering my heritage it is no wonder that I am such a romantic.  I love fully, deeply and with an open heart.  Some take advantage, some don’t know what to do with the intensity of it, however I am not going to change the way I am.  I will give love a chance in the most unlikely circumstances.  This level of vulnerability can hurt me sometimes, but it can also bring the most beautiful moments imaginable.

One of my dearest friends has been invaluable the past few years. She laughs with me when things are going well and is by my side when things are not.  Cat describes falling in love as “beautifully heart breaking”.  For me it’s the perfect way to describe an emotion that turns your whole world upside down and makes you feel fragile and invincible all at the same time.

While I have had my share of heart break, I have also seen the beauty of love and will continue to open my heart up to it.

Unconditional love is a rare thing.  To me, it’s when you know all the other person’s faults, failings and insecurities and you love them because of these things, not despite them.

So if you find someone you love and they love you back, don’t let little details get in the way.  Hold onto them with both hands and cherish every moment you have together.

A post from 18 January 2018

18 Months ago I gave up my apartment and put all my possessions into storage to follow a dream of adventure and travel.  As a result I live out of suitcases most of the time which carry my clothes and sentimental items and I take them wherever I go.  Sometimes I am on a cruise ship sailing along the Mexican Coast or through the Caribbean and other times I am on land here in Cape Town.  Staying in Cape Town while I wait between assignments has become the norm now and I drift between my parents’ home, my friends flat and the occasional house I look after.  Thanks to my friend’s generosity and kindness I have called his place home for the last five months.  It is a nomadic life, one that I have a love hate relationship with at times; however I am in no rush to change that.  I love the freedom it gives and the flexibility it allows.

While I may be a seasoned mover (33 different spaces I call home and 41 moves between them) I have not yet embraced the concept of packing light.  I resemble the people you see on dirt bin collection day with their trollies piled high of the things they have an attachment to.  The only difference is that I pile mine into a car and do multiple trips from place A to B. I once moved to another city with a coffee table and wooden giraffe strapped to my roof racks and so many boxes inside that I could barely see out the back window.

Recently I house sat for my sister and her family for three weeks. Most people would pack a bag, and a book or two if they were house sitting  20 minutes away… but not me. I moved everything out of the flat and took it with me.  When it was time to move back to my friend’s place I decided to stagger the move (by taking things back in stages) and then spend a few days with my parents before returning.  In my head it seemed like a brilliant plan.  I dropped off art canvases at my friend (home), extra bags at my storage unit and took the remainder of my things to my parents’ house the following day.  Normally my visual memory is good, however when you add an emotional goodbye at our International airport and my own birthday excitement the day I went to my parents into the mix, my brain got a bit foggy on the details of where I had put what.

I was in ignorant bliss for two days until I went to fetch my very full art bag from the study.  Now this is no ordinary art bag, think of it as a large A3 canvas handbag.  I use it to carry all my art drawings, completed watercolours, specialised art materials and important documents.  When on land, this bag goes wherever I am living due to what is inside, fortunately I didn’t put my passport in it this time.  To my horror I couldn’t find it… I remembered putting it in the car behind my driver’s seat, taking it out and putting it down.  Unfortunately I couldn’t remember if I left it in the driveway outside my parents’ house or if I took it inside, but I was certain that I had brought it.  I am sure you can relate to that sick, empty feeling you get the moment you realise the item you are looking for is missing and possibly lost.  Anyone I had contact with in the past few days was either searching for it or worried about it, worldwide concern over an art bag.  At that moment, nothing else seemed important.  Plans for the day were set aside as I quickly packed and left my parents (counting each bag as I set it aside) and raced to my flat to drop off my things before searching the storage unit…

As I am carrying my suitcase upstairs, my mind is still frantic.  Did I leave it outside? Is it in storage?  Maybe my sister just didn’t see it? Maybe it got mixed up with her holiday bags?

It’s amazing how clear thinking and memory recall goes out the window when you are stressed and it’s replaced by looped thoughts and false memories…

My bag was upstairs, right next to my bed where I put it four days earlier.  The search party was called off and all concerned persons notified.  What a fuss for something that was never missing.

When life gets busy and you’re thinking of other things, it can be difficult to stay present.  I realised that it is better to know yourself and work with what you have so from now on, as I am incapable of packing light, I should at least count my bags before I move them.  That being said, I need to go re-pack my suitcase for my next assignment and attempt to take half the amount I took on my last contract.  I don’t know when I am leaving or where I’m going but at least I will be ready.

These posts will be a collection of random thoughts, past and current experiences during my time working on a cruise ship and anything else that takes my fancy.

I hope they make for some entertaining reading.