Monthly Archives: September 2011

Good Things Happen In Threes, Ameezing Things Happen In Fours.

This weekend, my parents (who this month have been married for THIRTY SEVEN years, more on that soon) are coming to Joburg to visit.  This is one of my favourite photographs of all time.  It captures who they were at the time so well.  My mother with her whimsical smile and those legs(!) and my father with his ameezing moustache and patterned shirt.  And that VW, those tea cups, that number plate!  Welcome Mama and Papa, we’re so glad you’re coming.

 


The Joburg Art Fair happens this weekend.  Growing up with an artist dad, my brothers and I spent loads of time in art galleries.  What, at eight years old, felt like a prison sentence, is now one of my favourite things to do.

 

Joel Janse van Vuuren shows his Autumn/Winter collection at Fashion Week on Saturday.  I have been lucky enough to witness the design process from start and finish and cannot wait to see these beautiful garments on the ramp on Saturday.  Joelie, we love you!

 

Also on Saturday(!), we shoot the pilot for Shady Valley.  A movie that my brother, The Ameezing Ty, and the Ameezing James, have been working on for over three years.  And tomorrow, after loads of blood, sweat, bubble wrap, latex and not many tears at all, it becomes a reality.  Ty and James, you are inspiring, ameezing and worship worthy and I feel so priviledged to be part of this extraordinary project.

 

Have a wonderful weekend!

 

[Art Fair Image Via]

 

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No Ways!

Because it’s Friday and because I love a weird (okay, kind of useless fact), below is the most searched, read and picture downloaded post on Ameezing, ever.  Featuring a bare foot Mr Ameezing, me dressed like a Voortrekker (some have said Amish) and a little story about a birthday party.

I wonder if it’s to do with school projects?  A Voortrekker scrapbooking group? Crazy, scary internet people with a herd of cats and a thing for bonnets? I guess we’ll never know…

[14 March 2011]

The Voortrekker and the Chang drinking Thai Fisherman

A little while ago, Aadil and I went to a dress up birthday party where the theme was ‘Dress as your Heritage’.  Holy Panda’s Toenails it was difficult, especially when your heritage is kind of 1820′s Settler, kind of Irish-ish.  Fortunately, my little brother, the Ameezing Joel Janse van Vuuren, whipped up this super Dr Quinn-esque skirt and kappie (the shirt is from my wardrobe, I wear it on ‘Nerdy Librarian’ days).  Voortrekker chic, no?  Aadil wore traditional Thai fisherman’s pants and a Chang Beer shirt.  A girl at the party said to me, ‘Wow, what was it like growing up Amish?’  The other outfits at the party were a mixture of farmers (with combs in socks, ob), Jewish schoolgirls, one British soldier and a German lederhosen wearing guy.  Ameezing.

 

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Some House Keeping…

Like a little weed in the sunshine, Ameezing the Blog is quietly and steadily growing, and for that I want to say Thank You to You, Ameezing Reader, for being just that.  Pardon the cliché, but I really wouldn’t be here without you.  So thank you.

To some house keeping, if you’d like to become a follower of Ameezing, click on the ‘Join Team Ameezing’ link in the right hand column.  And, let’s be twitter friends @ameezingtheblog.  I’m a twitter rookie, but it’s little, blue birdie claws have already taken hold.

Also, want more Ameezing? Check out past posts sorted by date and category, all in the right hand column.

There wah, house clean.  Now let’s have G and T’s and talk about the dreamy door to door aircon salesman…

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I Nearly D.I.Y -ed

Firstly, this post may win some kind of award for worst title ever.  Secondly, I sort of love a good-bad play on words.  Thirdly, I like making things that I wouldn’t usually buy.  I’m not really a ‘I could make that at home myself’ kind of gal.  So when I do D.I.Y, it’s normally to make something that I couldn’t find elsewhere.

With Summer on our doorsteps it was time to find a new way to house my tangle of hardly used necklaces.  Two old picture frames from a charity store (both for the price of a take away coffee), some dusty pink velvet, a few gold hooks, a lick of white paint and there wah, my necklaces and head bands have never felt snazzier.

Before

After


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Greener Pastures…

Few things are better than a Saturday afternoon walk with The Ever Lovely Lindsay-Jane and her two equally lovely hounds, Fred and George (Weasley).  The leaves are all virgin green now and the sun is determined to stay out way longer than her Winter curfew.  The virgin leaves and the rebellious sun make wonderful partners as they dance gleefully into dusk.  How ameezing to witness them at play.

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Hello Neighbour…

I didn’t want to like the Neighbourgoods Market, I really didn’t.  A Cape Town export, brought to us by the guys who turned an old biscuit mill into an award-winning market.  There they were, in our city.  Teaching us how to market the Cape Town way.  And who puts glitter on a poster anyway?  But holy panda’s toenails, did I eat my words, as I sipped on my deelicious mojito and wondered around the wonderful space those Cape Town guys had created.

Situated on two levels of a building in Juta Street, Braamfontein, the layout is spacious, the stalls (a mixture of Cape Town and Joburg vendors) interesting and varied, the parking, a breeze, the food, delicious and the atmosphere, terrific.  I’m converted.  I even bought myself a bunch of fynbos, which now sits in our lounge, looking all pretty and Cape Town like.  And I hardly ever even feel guilty when I look at it.  Joburg, you make a very gracious host.  Neighbourgoods, you’re welcome any time.

Every Saturday 09-00 to 15-00
73 Juta Street, Braamfontein


Market Lovin' - Lauren and Judge

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A Baby

When I was about twelve or thirteen I had a bet with my best friend.  So sure was I that I was going to be a ‘young’ mommy that if I didn’t have a child before twenty-five I had to buy her lunch and if I did, she owed me lunch.  Not sure why lunch was the prize, I guess it was what we thought we would want to be doing at twenty-five, lunching.  We even documented the whole thing on an A4 blue lined piece of paper.  I may or may not have even laminated it.

I turn thirty-one next month.  Thirty one.  I wonder if broodiness is one of the last taboos?  You’re not ‘supposed’ to want to be a stay at home mom now a days.  I’ve been in conversations where girls have scoffed, laughed and been down right disgusted by the idea of some one who would choose to raise babies the ‘old fashioned’ way.  I just sipped my white wine and kept very quiet.

So I’m broody, very, very broody.  I kind of always have been (hence ridiculous bets at thirteen).  In my early twenties it was more a Brangelina kind of broody, rescuing babies, adopting babies, saving babies.  Living the baby dream.  A big plan like buying a Winnebago and road tripping across America.  In my late twenties, broodiness got pushed to the back of the shelf for a bit.  Bottled away whilst things like falling in love, getting married, getting divorced, buying a new kettle and rebuilding took over.  And a little thing like yearning to be a mama was like wearing pearls and a mink coat during the war.

So now here I am, at almost thirty-one, owing my best friend at thirteen, six years of lunches.  And it’s a strange place to be because half of me is so happy to have had my twenties to grow and learn and be independent and drink cocktails with my girlfriends whenever I wanted to.  And the other half of me is so desperately sad to not have done one of the things I feel like I’m alive to do.  Yet.

I wonder what we’re supposed to feel, us broody girls in the in between generation?  Are there other girls out there feeling like me too? Walking the line of feeling rock and roll and free and yet sometimes feeling a little empty and sad.

I know, that in time to come, when I’m walking around in stretchy pants with a rounded belly, the timing will be exquisite, the only way it should have been.  Just sometimes, in the time before stretchy pants and rounded bellies, I daydream about opening my front door to find a little basket on the doormat, with a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket inside.  With a note saying ‘Please take care of me’ or whatever note appropriate thing a baby in a basket would say.  Sometimes, okay, just sometimes, I even open my front door and look down.  Shaame.

Either way, stork or stretchy pants,  I’ll keep you posted…

[I should mention that Mr Ameezing has and always has had full disclosure on the baby wanting.  Not once has he put his hands to his face like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone and run away screaming.  Just one of the many reasons why Mr Ameezing is Mr Ameezing]
 

[Beautiful image via Bury and Discover]

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