…and a Ghost Tour

The book the whole planet is reading (and my mouth guard).  I’m about to find out what all the house wife blushing is about.  A cold front is on its way to Joburg this weekend.  I love the cold if only for all the wardrobe opportunities it brings. And for the all snuggling in bed with a blush inducing international best seller it requires.

On Saturday night I am going with a group of friends on a ghost tour of Joburg.  I am really, really scared of even the idea of ghosts.  But I really, really like seeing weird and wonderful corners of Joburg.  And I get to secretly wear my dressing gown under a long black cloak all night.  I’ll let you know how it goes.  Ooooooooooooooh.

Happy Weekend Ameezings.


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Honesty is scary stuff.

When I was little (and by little I mean 20) I knew that I was going to get married and have kids.  No doubt about it.  I didn’t even really think about who I would marry or how many kids we’d have or what my wedding dress would look like, because the story was already written. I didn’t need to plan and day-dream because it was going to be.  It was so inevitable that I didn’t need to think about it until it inevitably happened.  Which I knew it would, inevitably.

Well now dear Ameezings, I ‘suddenly’ find myself single and kid-less at 31 and a half.  There was a dress and flowers and vows, but then there was also a cold court room and dividing furniture.  An unexpected journey.   The long way around.

My grade five Afrikaans teacher used to say to kids making excuses about absent homework, ‘My heart bleeds lumpy custard for you.’  Which now that I think about it is a pretty gruesome image to fill a small person’s mind with.  But it’s what my unkind self has been telling my squishy hearted self for a while now.  And my squishy hearted self has been in an awkward state of denial that my story looks any different to how it was always going to inevitably look.

Now for the emo-exorcising part.  I am learning how to make peace with a new story.  The fact that the inevitable didn’t happen, inevitably.  For so long now I have been living in a state of waiting for that story to start.  For ‘how its supposed to be’ to just get freakin’ on with it.  I’m ready now at 31 and a half to say that it’s not going to be like I always knew it would be.  And that’s okay.  I may end up with a house full of iguanas and a huge Reader’s Digest collection.  I may be a single mom to a tiny, adopted person.  I may meet someone at the chemist tomorrow and live happily ever after.  I may pack a backpack the size of an overfed cat and go somewhere new.  Where the language sounds made up to my english ears and all the menus scare me.  These new stories are not as important as the possibilities of these new stories.

Goodbye dragon of inevitability.  You were exciting and kept me believing for many years.  But it’s time for my wooden sword and paper pirate hat.  I’m going dragon slaying.


PS. Single and the City.


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Tuesday I’m in Love…

Yip, its Wednesday.  But on Tuesday, blessed, little, delicious, saucy Tuesday I wandered into a new antique furniture shop (details to follow) and fell in love with, courted (okay, paid for) and took home this blue number.  After a google or two, it turned out to be a Beanstalk Kamp Kitchen Cabinet.  Oh, to be in the seventies, wearing a high-waisted red and white checked bikini, making my hair-slicked-back-just-so darling of a husband a dirty martini on the top shelf of our little, blue cabinet of camping happiness. Retro sigh.

Whilst I wait for Woolworths to start selling time machines, the Beanstalk Kamp Kitchen Cabinet is going to live in my bedroom (it was almost a ‘side table’, see first photo) and store all kinds of important things like old copies of Vogue magazines and my grandfather’s bowling trophies.  It must be love.  Ta-rah, I’m off to go bikini and darling husband shopping.


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Pyjamas in the Parking Lot

My brother Joel, saintly helping me carry box loads of things to the car.  Long before his normal waking up time.  Thank you brother.

You guys, give your siblings a big ol’ hug today.


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Hello Again



-It is with as little hullabaloo as possible that I say hello again friends.  I’ve been away, but always here, you know.  There was a dark time last week when my phone, home internet and laptop were all not working.  That was a dark time indeed.  Uber happily I am back and brandishing an iPhone, a working laptop and internet and a handbag o’ smiles.  I’m on Instagram now if you’d like to see – msameezing.  And on twitter – @MsAmeezing.  ( I promise to make every effort to keep photos of my feet and food to a minimum.)

-A few years ago, across a smoky club, a cute boy made eye contact with me and smiled.  He made his way across the dance floor, like a snake in desert sand.  When he got to me, our eyes still locked, he put his hand on my cheek and gently ran his fingers across the moles on my face.  Instantly his expression changed to total disgust.  Like poo-in-the-air kind of disgust.  Then he said, ‘Oh, I thought they were piercings.  Damn.’  And then he walked away

-The two photos above are of my desk during peak work time and of my dressing table during peak getting ready time (spot the robot make-up bag of joy).  I know that I am one squillion years late hopping on the Instagram train, but I really am in love with the whole idea.

-Have you seen ‘New Girl’? It’s wonderful.  Laugh out loud kind of wonderful.

-Joburg in early winter is just the best.  Sun everyday.  Crunchy leaves.  New scarves and toes not yet numb.  Soup.  Red wine.  Fire places.  It’s all so good.

-Hello again.


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This past weekend I went to the theatre to watch some dance pieces and a great band.  After the show, whilst milling around in the reception, some of the audience were asked to fill out surveys.  How often do you come to the theatre? How did you hear about this show?  I was dutifully juggling my theatre wine and clip board, ticking boxes like there was no tomorrow and then, then I got to the age section.  You guys, the only box appropriate for me to tick (without lying) was 30-50.  There it sat, just below 25-30 (which suddenly sounded insanely youthful), looking up at me, sweetly waiting to be slashed through the belly with a pen mark.

I lent against the wall for support and dragged my brain back out of the rabbit hole of ‘aahhhhhh’.  And then I started thinking, waidaminute, nowadays, sometimes, mostly in fact, I feel so happy and grateful.  Simple little words ‘happy’ and ‘grateful’.  Words straight out of a pre-school song, and yet, so powerful in the way they open doors, that you never knew where there, to the garden and let the sunshine in.  If being in the 30-50 box means hanging out with those two words, then I’m grabbing a sun hat, taking my shoes off and getting comfortable.

I took a sip of wine, gave the (newish) ol’ smile lines some exercise and slashed that box straight across the belly.

PS. I am most grateful for this sound.

[My brother Joel is a fashion designer and the taker of this photograph.  You guys, he is ameezing.]

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How I can recreate this house that looks like it’s made of ghost’s breath

And live in it forever

I heard a friend whistling last night.  No one whistles anymore.  My grandfather used to whistle.

How much hot chocolate is too much hot chocolate?

Still pondering becoming a ginger

What’s the point of dust?

The enormous impact that the kindness of a stranger has.  It stays with you like your favourite perfume.

Candy floss (cotton candy) in Afrikaans is Spook Asem.  Directly translated it means ‘Ghost’s breath’.



[Picture Found Here]


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