S.A. trip Part 1

When my brother called to say he would buy me a ticket back home, it was 10 am on Wednesday morning. I was on my way to work and we decided to buy the ticket for Thursday evening. The funeral was on Friday morning at 10:30am and I would be landing at 8:30am. We would be cutting it fine but my brother assured me he would get us there on time. The women in his life, i.e. my mother and I, doubted him. As women we felt obliged to worriedly consider the worse case scenarios.

It must be known that this would be my very first solo flight. I have an irrational fear of airports.  They seem huge and complicated; a place that I could easily get lost in, miss my flight and if I ever did find my way, I would be refused entry into the country. If this trip had been planned months in advance I would have been a nervous wreck. It was a blessing that it was so last minute as I didn’t have time to consider the worst case scenarios; I just simply had to go.

 It turns out that I was slightly justified to have worried. When we flew to London back in October, I booked my ticket under my married name and produced my marriage certificate when showing my passport which was in my maiden name. There were no problems. But this time, flying a different airline, this was a problem. They would not check me onto the flight. The only thing I could do was to buy another ticket. It was at this point that I began to cry. I was already emotional about my granddad, nervous flying on my own and apprehensive about making it to the funeral on time. Now we had to buy another ticket. I felt like saying “See! I told you so. Airports are evil!” As there was no other option, we purchased another ticket. They reassured us we would be refunded, but would have to pay £25 admin fee. I doubt whatever admin was done was really worth the £25.

The check in lady, after seeing my tears I assume, offered to find me a better seat on the plane as I was sitting in the middle of the middle aisle. After going through security and the passport control, I arrived at the gate just as they were boarding the plane. I was asked to take a seat as they were still trying to get me a better seat. I waited half an hour before they conceded that all the seats were taken and I had to settle for the seat I was given. My seat, 58E was in the centre of a school trip, which was made up of a group of 16 year old boys. The up side was that I had someone to help me put my case in the overhead compartment. That and the fact that if I had wanted to, I could have farted away to my hearts content and no one would have noticed as there was farting going on all around me. An unpleasant smell would soon be accompanied by “Ah! Dude! No!” and then raucous laughter.

What I had been looking forward to on the flight were the 11 hours worth of movies I was going to watch. However the four screens in my row didn’t seem to be working. I waved my hand to get the attention of the air hostess. I could see her looking at me but she didn’t move. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and waved my arm more frantically in the air. Again she didn’t respond; yet I knew she was looking directly at me. I was about to be outraged when I realised that she was actually waiting to start the safety demonstration. Instead I sank down as low as possible in my chair, hopefully unnoticed by any judgemental 16 year olds present.

Regardless of no in flight entertainment the entire journey, it wasn’t an entirely bad trip. The food was tasty, the service was good; and I took a sleeping tablet accompanied by a glass of red wine and passed out for the duration of the flight…..

In loving memory of my grandfather

Moving to a different country is wonderfully exciting, but when a crisis hits a family, the distance between countries becomes painfully apparent. About two weeks ago my cousin, who also lives here in London, sent me a message asking if I had spoken to my mother. I knew immediately that something was wrong. I phoned my mom straight away. She told me everything was ok, but my grandfather had had a heart attack. He was in the hospital; stable but still critical. I felt helpless not being able to be there to see him; and also helpless that I couldn’t be there for my mom. Moving away from my family unit was a difficult decision to make. It is one of the biggest reasons most people move back home. We kept in contact with Skype and numerous messages, but I have never felt further away from home than in these last two weeks.

When my granddad passed away he was surrounded by his five children and his grandchildren. Fred Greeff was a beautiful man who loved his “Spouse”, my grandmother Yvonne Greeff, more than anything in the whole world. They made me believe in Soul Mates. They had a gorgeous marriage, were still loving and considerate and I never heard a nasty word spoken between them; and they still held hands right up until the day my gran passed away in 2006.

My granddad was a man of incredible character and love. He was a REAL gentleman. I never saw him lose his temper. He was always so grateful for everything in his life and could often be heard saying that, “This was the BEST dinner/ concert/ picnic/ etc,” that he had ever had.  He was an example to all his children and grandchildren of how to live by faith and love our Lord. He has left a legacy behind of a family that loves each other and will always be there for each other. My grandparents’ marriage will always be an inspiration to me personally, and although we will always miss him; it is reassuring to know that he is now at peace and full of joy for all eternity with my gran and our Lord.

We weren’t planning on going to the funeral because of finances. I was going to be the only grandchild absent from the funeral. I wrote a goodbye letter to my grandfather to be read out during the service. I sent it to my brother for a proof reading. He phoned back and offered to buy me a plane ticket instead. My family is awesome! Because of my brothers generous heart I got to say goodbye to my granddad, and all of his 5 children and 14 grandchildren were there. Every one of us had a part in the funeral; it was wonderful to see my granddads legacy.

Thank you Grandpa for the beautiful memories. Thank you for all the laughter, the family holidays and for always being there for us. Thank you for the example you have set for me. I am grateful that I was witness to such a beautiful marriage and that I knew such an incredible man. I will miss you always.

Goodbye. 

Follow your dreams

As I write this I am sitting on the second floor of the Waterstones book shop, drinking coffee at my window seat, looking down at the people in the street near Trafalgar square. I feel like a writer.

 I have a romantic idea about novel writers; how they sit in cafes with their laptops, a cup of coffee cooling on the table next to them, fingers poised over the keyboard ready to record the ideas that may be the next bestseller. I have no idea if this is actually what the life of a writer is like, but it sounds pleasant; and if I were a writer this coffee shop would be my office.

Unfortunately I am not a full time writer. In fact I am not even a part time writer; you would have to get paid for it to qualify I’m sure. But my blog did lead to a new career for me.

I received an email advertising a position that required someone “with natural talent for writing.” As I have said before, I love writing but have no idea if I am actually any good at it. But I thought, “What the hell,” and sent in my C.V with a link to my blog. Thankfully I got an interview. And consequently I was offered the job! I start in two weeks and am beyond excited. It just goes to show that you never know unless you try. People often give up as they think they don’t even stand a chance. But you just never know. I also learnt that if you start doing something you are passionate about, opportunities will start to open up to you. I am always inspired by people I meet that are in their 30’s or 40’s that have chosen a dramatic career change. It is never too late to follow your dreams!

There is a white haired gentleman with glasses sitting near me. His laptop is sitting on the table as he sips his cappuccino and taps away on his keyboard. He has been here for ages. It looks like this coffee shop already has its resident author. But there is no reason why we can’t share is there?

Tick Tock, Tick Tock……..

 

Something has happened to me recently. I am unable to walk through the streets of London without the uncontrollable urge to “ah cute” and “oh sweet”; and basically sound like a blabbering idiot every time I see a baby!

Does someone suddenly turn a switch on inside you  that makes you desperately want to increase the world’s population? I am constantly turning to my husband saying, “Ah, I want one,” like we should simply go down to Tesco’s and pick one up in the baby isle.

When I meet new moms or pregnant ladies I sound like the Spanish Inquisition, drilling them with questions about morning sickness, birth choices and sleeping patterns. They must think I’m doing some kind of report on the subject. Luckily new moms are always delighted to talk about their offspring and are happy to tell me anything I want to know. Moms are very honest as well; they tell me all about the good and bad moments and I’m pleased to report that they all say it is very, very worth it in the end. In preparation I have even started taking calcium tablets because my mother said it was important during pregnancy. Apparently the little darling takes all of mine while it’s in there.

 We aren’t quite ready yet to have a child (though I wonder if anyone is ever “ready”). We’re not totally settled in our new life here. So little baby Adams will just have to wait. If my biological clock ever needs temporary silencing I simply head down to the Gazebo in the common. It is the popular local haunt of young mothers. They meet with their prams, let the kids run riot in the open spaces and have a little lunch. I have gone inside the small yet thriving café to get an ice cream and have come out with a dull aching head; a result of the screaming, crying and generally noisy children, free from any feelings of broodiness I once had. Well at least for a short time anyway.

NHS

I received an invitation in the post! It was from the doctor for a “lady-type” examination. But I still felt special; it’s always nice to be invited to something.

I went for my appointment today. I gave my name to the receptionist and took my seat. While I was waiting patiently a gentleman walked into the practice.

“Good afternoon. My name is Mark Jacobson. I have an appointment today at 4:30 and I’d like to cancel it”, he said to the rotund lady behind the desk. I thought this was a weird thing to do; surely it would have been far easier to phone with such information?

“You have an appointment?” the rotund lady asked.

“Yes.”

“And it’s been cancelled?!!” she said, clearly shocked by the news.

“No, but I would like to cancel it.”

She nodded; ensuring him she understood and began to tap away on her keyboard.

“Name?” she asked.

“Mark Jacobson.”

“The appointment was at 4:30?”

“That is correct,” he said.

“Right. And would you like to cancel it?”

I was quite tired after this conversation.

After a few more minutes of waiting a red headed nurse opened one of the doors. “Dynielle Adams?” she asked the waiting area. I was the only one in the room. I wondered why she had felt the need to question a room full of empty chairs. Maybe she had thought the other patients had grown bored waiting and had decided to play a game of hide-and-seek and I was the one that was ‘on’ and she had in fact just interrupted me as I was in the middle of counting to 100.

“That’s me,” I said, entertaining her.

 She seemed very timid, as if she were scared to say the wrong thing or a rude word and I’d get offended. I felt as if I needed to reassure this woman that it was ok and that I did want to be there.

I’m an inquisitive person and tend to ask people with any amount of knowledge a lot of questions. Like why we needed to have this “lady-type” exam only once every 3 years? Back home it was done once a year. If it was any longer than this panic would set in. What life threatening occurrences were developing in there!?! It’s been 368 days since my last check up!! 

So when I read in my invitation that it was done once every 3 years the hypochondriac in me began to shout out. What?! Only once every THREE years? That’s plenty of time for life threatening occurrences to develop in there!

The exam was more or less uneventful and we made polite chit chat throughout. At the end I thanked her very much, told her to have a beautiful day and put my hand on the door handle to exit. It was at this point that the nurse decided to start up a conversation about the weather. I understand that this is a particularly exciting topic for Brits; but why did she leave it till the last moment, with my hand on the door handle? I didn’t know if I should remove my hand and turn around to face her. She carried on talking. I carried on smiling, my hand lingering on the door. It was awkward. I decided to take the plunge and open the door, proclaiming to her my intention to leave. But I couldn’t. It was locked.

She stopped mid sentence, something about how warm it’s been. “Sorry. I locked the door,” she said.

I ended up apologising (not sure why), fumbling with the lock and finally opening the door. She seemed sad to see me go.

The first time I visited the doctor in England I couldn’t quite believe that I didn’t have to pay. Not one cent. I felt so nervous after the appointment that I went to reception just to make sure and asked them if I could just leave. They looked a little confused that I was asking this and said it was fine I could go. I felt like I had just robbed the place. I kept looking behind me as I walked down the street; half expecting an angry doctor to come after me asking for his money.

Feel Good #1 - Waxing

Yes I do believe in equality for women. Yes I do think that magazines sell a false perception of what real women look like. Yes I know that we probably spend too much time trying to live up to these standards than we really should. But I draw the line at being hairy! I don’t think we should be angry at men for wanting a lady with smooth legs. There is nothing better than the feeling of a full body wax.

That is why my first Thing That Makes Me Feel Good is waxing.

Being in the beauty industry has made me a little obsessed with hair removal; that, and the years of my brother commenting on the hair above my lip; asking subtly, “Don’t you think you should get that seen to?” Those sorts of comments can scar a person.

My first tip for you is to find a decent waxing salon! If you ever see a therapist straining the wax to reuse it, run like mad! This is an archaic practice and totally disgusting.

If it’s your very first time waxing don’t be afraid to ask loads of questions, like what type of wax they use and how long the therapist has been waxing for.

If you do find yourself in the middle of a disastrous waxing experience, don’t be shy; tell the therapist to stop and don’t feel you need to pay. There is no way you should be expected to pay if a therapist has bruised you, burnt you, or removed a layer of skin!

Strip or cold wax is fine to use on your legs; but for your bikini, face or underarm remember to make sure they are using HOT wax.

Don’t be too brave, if it’s your very first time having a bikini wax play it safe and simply have a G-string wax. You can always work your way up to a Brazilian, especially if you aren’t familiar with the therapist.

The only problem with waxing is trying to maintain it during the summer months, especially on those rare occasions in England when the sun ventures to come out, you don't want to be forced to wear trousers and sleeves. For your legs the Veet strips will do to clean up between waxes. However, I don’t recommended trying to wax your bikini on your own. You end up with your legs in peculiar positions and spend half the time bracing yourself to pull the wax off. It’s not an attractive look. Leave it to the professioals. But do try it, it really does make you feel good. 

Second Hand Goodies!!

I recently discovered the joy of shopping at a charity shop. I had never been in one before. I am the kind of person that will wear my clothes until they are too stretched or discoloured to wear any longer; and giving them to a charity shop for someone else to wear is just insulting. Usually the thought of wearing someone else’s clothes doesn’t appeal to me but I found some great items! I don’t know if it made a difference that the charity shop I went to was in Chelsea where the residents are usually not short of money. The clothes looked almost new. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were worn only a couple of times before they were considered “so last season” and passed along. But I am only too grateful to these faceless Chelsea ladies who chose to donate their clothes, as I picked up 5 items of clothing for under 20 pounds!!!!!!! I found tops that were less than half the price they would have been in the store! A Dorothy Perkins dress for £6, Miss Selfridge blouse for £2.50 and a Kookai top for only £3. My hubby even found himself a GAP satchel. I walked out that shop not quite believing it. I never buy branded clothes out of principal; they really shouldn’t be allowed to sell clothes for £50 just because of a tiny label sewn on the inside. But I certainly don’t mind buying it for only £3; my principals go out the window with a bargain like that! I definitely think charity shops are the way forward!

Miss Selfridge

Kookai

Dorothy Perkins

Body Revolution

 

There is a difference between a woman who complains that she is “fat” simply to get a compliment out of someone (because she knows she isn’t); and a woman who genuinely sees a distorted image of herself when she looks in the mirror.

I met a beautiful Italian girl not so long ago who obviously hated what she saw. Nothing I said could break through this mental fortress that she had constructed around herself that told her she was overweight and unattractive. What was worse is that she can’t remember a time she wasn’t on a diet!

How constricting it must feel to be on a diet your entire life.

I wish we could start a body revolution that declares women stop hating their bodies and start enjoying them. We only get the one body; we can’t exchange it (I know, I've tried; but apparently the Almighty doesn't do that sort of thing.) and we shouldn’t take it for granted. I always love the line from the Sunscreen song that says:

“Enjoy your body,
use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it,

or what other people think of it,

it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own..”

There is a lot of great advice in that song……..

I really am preaching to myself here more than anyone else. I have more “fat” days than not. But from today I am going to start my own little body revolution and believe that, in the words of Baz Luhrmann, “….You’re not as fat as you imagine.”