Life in the very fast lane...: I am an only child (in case you hadn’t noticed, I ...

Life in the very fast lane...: I am an only child (in case you hadn’t noticed, I ...: I am an only child (in case you hadn’t noticed, I thought I would tell you), and grew up in the “70’s and “80’s with two rather trendy par...

I am an only child (in case you hadn’t noticed, I thought I would tell you), and grew up in the “70’s and “80’s with two rather trendy parents.  Hardly surprising then that I am at the cutting edge of all things fashion.  Just kidding.  About the fashion part.

When I was a little girl, which I admit, was a while ago, I used to follow my father around in an almost adoration-like trance.  Luckily for me, or not, my father was obsessed with cars, the Grand Prix, Lucky Strike cigarettes, and music.  Music, I have continued to discover, holds a power few of us are able to rival, even Vladimir Putin, and Putin would most certainly be an individual I would fear in good times and in bad.

When I was a teenager in the (very) late ‘80’s, I used to praise my father for having the sense of character to buy the very best speakers (Bose, of course), the very best hi-system, and the very best ear-phones.  He and I used to retreat to our respective couches, with the exceptionally bad pink cushions, and “lie back and think of England”.

I have no idea what he used to think about – probably how he was going to find a mild-ish method of containing his daughter, and who could blame him?  But I do know that I used to lie back on that badly cushioned couch and dream of all things, realistic or otherwise.

For most of us, life is not a bed of roses.  In fact, in my forty years of life, I have never come across anyone who has had a blissful, easy, unrivalled, glorious life.  Each and every one of us, at some time or another, has “a blip on our radar screen”.

I have always loved music, and follow music trends with more regularity than I watch the comings and goings of the New York Stock Exchange.  Given my obsession with New York and its commercial life-blood, this says a lot.  And so, it was with much intrigue that I wandered in this evening from a dinner, turned on the music channel, and sat down to work on a proposal, only to discover one of my most favourite tunes playing on MTV – “Journey”, “Don’t Stop Believing”.

Suddenly I was stuck in time.  My memory jumped back to watching my dad driving his white No-Mad, teaching me to steer while he did the peddle thing, probably the reason why I favour automatic cars.  Neil Diamond and Journey were the pick of the day.

Apart from the obvious flash-back in terms of memory, for the first time ever, I listened to the lyrics.  “Smell wine and cheap perfume” amongst other things. The performers were all in jeans that were way too tight for them, bad yellow t-shirts, equally bad haircuts, and yet, they could not be happier performing there on the stage, knowing that they were exceptional performers, bad haircut or not; believing or not.

In a time of such trouble and strife in our personal and business lives, I think we should, or could, take a leaf out of their music book, and that is this:  Do not stop believing.  Where there is loss, there is hope.

Despite that, however, let me state, as the fashion expert I of course am: yellow t-shirts work for the Tour de France and little else, and tight jeans have, quite frankly, never worked for anyone… Journey or otherwise.

Life in the very fast lane...: In my heydays, I was a runner. I have never been ...

Life in the very fast lane...: In my heydays, I was a runner.  I have never been ...: In my heydays, I was a runner.   I have never been in better physical and mental shape than those days.   Of course, if you had to take a gl...

In my heydays, I was a runner.  I have never been in better physical and mental shape than those days.  Of course, if you had to take a glance at me now, you would realise that these heydays must have been quite some time ago. 

Whilst living in London, arguably the best time of my life to date, I went to watch the London marathon, and cheer on the disheveled runners as they screeched across the finish line.  And so, of course, it was with so much sadness that I heard, like everyone else, about the events at the Boston marathon, and I, like so many others, waited and watched the London marathon runners today, hoping that all would be well, which it was.

Of course sheer acts of fear-inducing behaviour appalls us all, so I won’t dwell on that, but it brought a thought to mind that I then sat and thought about over a glass of chilled sauvignon blanc.  It is this – that life can literally change in a heartbeat.  You can be cruising along in life, and the next thing, you are not. 

Life is as unpredictable as it is rich, as static as it is fluid, as devastating as it is rewarding.

The thing we all need to come to terms with, is that none of us knows the future, none of us know our own future, or that of our children, friends or family members.  This can be a good thing and a bad thing.  I have to say that if someone had told me two years ago what my last two years would be like, I think I would have crawled into a wine vat then and there and sipped away until I woke up two years later.  Rather like Sleeping Beauty, just not quite as pretty, and of course, no kiss of life at the end of the story by the handsome prince in the beautiful castle.  That is the good part of not knowing what the future has in store for us.

The bad part of course, is the part we probably spend more time thinking about – senseless loss of life, and with that, the loss of future opportunity, whatever that opportunity would have been for that now lifeless existence.

A very dear and great friend of mine died a few years ago in the most tragic of ways.  I make a point of visiting her grave as often as I can, and today made my way there to sit next to her grave and contemplate the myriad of personal challenges that face me at the moment, and have some quiet time.  Well, there is nothing like sitting in a graveyard to bring you back to an acute appreciation of life, challenges and all.

I read, as I have read so many times before, the wording on her grave stone – “time not spent with you is lost”.  How true and how very accurate.  In a world where we live, and we love, all we want to do is spend time, quality or other, with the individual(s) we love the most.  Yet often, through circumstances we are not placed to change, this is not possible.  I think it is this feeling of lost opportunity and lost time that leaves the sensitive types, like me, reeling, and wishing for a different outcome.

A very good European friend of mine ends all his e-mails to me with “Carpe diem!!!” – exactly like that.  He is wildly successful, and it is not surprising really with an attitude of “Seize the day!!!”   He seizes each and every day, and lives the success he so richly deserves.

As always, so many questions, so few answers, but one conclusion I feel I am able to live with is this:  Life may be long, it may be short, but whichever it is, it is unknown to us, and there is little we can do to change that.  So, note to self, stop wishing for things to be different, for changes to have already taken place, but rather, take whatever it is that is presented to you right now, in this moment, and focus only on the very bright silver lining that encapsulates each and every cloud, dark grey or not.

Life in the very fast lane...: It has been a week of reflection. I am sure it is...

Life in the very fast lane...: It has been a week of reflection.  I am sure it is...: It has been a week of reflection.   I am sure it is fairly common to have a traumatic experience, of any kind, and suddenly find yourself ...

It has been a week of reflection.  I am sure it is fairly common to have a traumatic experience, of any kind, and suddenly find yourself reflecting upon the things in your life that are good, the things in your life that need to be altered immediately, and the things in your life that you realise you simply cannot live without.

After my time of distress last week, I have realized that one of the things I simply cannot live without is cold, crisp, good Sauvignon Blanc.

But I digress.

Life events that can be described as “emotionally disturbing” are known to make individuals re-evaluate what is important to them in their lives.  Suddenly last week, I became utterly focused on my immediate family, on my job that I love so much, and on my special friends, worldwide.   All of this is the positive side of the situation.  The not so positive side of it is the insatiable appetite I developed for all things decadent – chocolate, cheese and chips – not necessarily in that order.

And so it was that I rolled off to a function yesterday, feeling like Oompa Loompa, and not wanting anyone to set eyes on me in case they fainted on the spot at the sight of this slow moving amoeba-like brunette.  Sitting with friends chatting about men, relationships (or rather the lack of them) and all things love and lust, a great confidante of mine picked up a book and read a line out to me that struck gold in my by now bulging double chin – it read, “your flaws are perfect to the heart that is meant to love you.”

The bell had just rung for me.

There are two aspects to this statement.  Firstly, the flaws part.  In other words, if you have, as I do, “more ‘Chins’ than the Chinese telephone directory” as my uncles used to say,  they may not be seen as a flaw by someone who is deeply, madly and truly in love with you.  But the aspect of the sentence that fascinated me more was “the heart that is meant to love you”.  This has long since been an item of fascination for me.  At what point does good luck end and fate begin?  How do you know which heart it is that is meant to love you?  Is there only one heart in your life that is destined to love you, or, if you have bad luck with a few hearts, is there still that other heart out there that was actually meant to love you, but was just waiting for the right time, circumstances, and events?

I have spent many years of my life thinking about love, running away from the possibility of love, at other times searching for love, sometimes giving up on love, and lately, just being plain skeptical about love.  So when this was read to me, it suddenly awakened in me a question we all prefer not to ask – that of “what if?”

What if there is actually that heart out there that is meant to love us, triple chins and all?  They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so perhaps the same could be said for all of us with a few extra pounds of comfort around our nether regions, and those of us too who gave up on love in the late 90’s, around the time we were listening to tunes by Bryan Adams, Rod Stewart and Sting?

Personally, I have more questions than I do answers.  But I do know that if there is a heart out there that is meant to love me, I am afraid it had better accept my current Botticelli body, flaws and all!

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a very simple morning routine. I leave hom...

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a very simple morning routine.  I leave hom...: I have a very simple morning routine.   I leave home at 6.30a.m. to do the school run; on the way, my daughter and I look at the Johannesb...

I have a very simple morning routine.  I leave home at 6.30a.m. to do the school run; on the way, my daughter and I look at the Johannesburg skies, we play music too loudly, we count birds in the sky, and dogs in the gardens we pass by.  Following school drop off, I head down to my favourite coffee shop, get a take-out café au lait, and drive the now mere two minutes to work – a job which I love.  I am lucky.

I try not to feel downtrodden that we live far away from school, but rather think thoughts like “the early bird catches the worm” as I look at the skyline and appreciate living in a great city, with great friends, with a healthy family – in other words, it is all good.

I heard the saying recently – “Terrific Tuesday”, so yesterday morning I awoke, and thought to myself “today is going to be a Terrific Tuesday”.  The early routine passed without incident, until it didn’t.

Driving along the road my work is in, at a fairly slow pace as I am an over cautious driver, out of nowhere, came the Wicked Witch of the East (as she was heading in an Easterly direction, of course) – a black car, traveling at pace, that went straight through a stop street.  The experience, I have to say, was surreal.  I saw the situation, I knew I was going to crash, I knew I had nowhere to go, I did not know what to expect next, but I did know that I had to stay focused.  My life flashed before me very quickly, but was replaced, equally as quickly, with a strange sense of calm.

I don’t recall at all swerving to avoid the oncoming Wicked, which must have been my instinct, but I recall very clearly seeing the stationary car I was going to hit, and I think I will forever remember the sound of the impact.  By then, I knew that I was not going to die, I knew I was in one of the safest cars on the road, but I knew too that my beautiful, albeit old, car, was about to be a crumpled wreck.  Astonishingly, every single item of the previous sentence is acutely correct.

The next few minutes are a blur, other than looking down at my white dress and realizing that the delicious coffee I had just picked up had left my center console and landed squarely on my lap.  A woman came running up to my car and told me to get out of it immediately as there was steam everywhere, and liquid everywhere else, and she was scared it was going to catch on fire.

I climbed out, I looked at the car I had hit; I looked at the Wicked Witch car, I looked to my right, and there was a tow truck, ready and waiting.

I have realized in the last thirty six hours that life really is a funny old thing.  I have been conditioned to believe that those tow truck drivers are scum bags, low lives and drug-taking hooligans.  I have to say, my experience could not have been more different.  Whilst they did indeed gather around this damsel in distress in record time, they called my insurance company for me, they moved my car out of a corner driveway for me, they called the police and the very lovely medic, in fact, they organized that accident scene with extreme precision. 

The next few hours are irrelevant, and are, I am sure, the same in any accident… but as we all know, I live my life looking for the message in everything, and I have spent every waking moment trying to work out what exactly it is.

After all this thought, the shock, the aftershock, the admin required to sort out the repair, and of course, the glasses of vino I simply had to have last evening to calm my battered nerves, I have come to my conclusion:  Judge not a tow truck by its signage; judge not a stop sign by its red and white painted façade; expect the unexpected; be thankful for friendly medics, but be thankful more so for safe German cars and the absolute knowing that as of yesterday, and indeed today, so far, my number is clearly not up.  Despite everything, in a strange way, it was still… a “Terrific Tuesday”.

P.S.  In case you were wondering… no-one was seriously injured in the accident, including the Wicked Witch of the East, last seen flying on her broomstick somewhere near Rosebank.

Life in the very fast lane...: I am an incurable romantic at heart. I love the s...

Life in the very fast lane...: I am an incurable romantic at heart.  I love the s...: I am an incurable romantic at heart.   I love the saddest, most gut-wrenching movies and books.   If there is lost love, forbidden love, i...

Life in the very fast lane...: I am an incurable romantic at heart. I love the s...

Life in the very fast lane...: I am an incurable romantic at heart.  I love the s...: I am an incurable romantic at heart.   I love the saddest, most gut-wrenching movies and books.   If there is lost love, forbidden love,...

I am an incurable romantic at heart.  I love the saddest, most gut-wrenching movies and books.  If there is lost love, forbidden love, insurmountable hardships in love, I am instantly fixated. 

As a teenager, I watched The Thorn Birds several times and sobbed each time I watched it; whilst going through my own hardships, I bought the DVD set at the local store and watched it again, and this time, sobbed so much that my eyes were red puff balls for two days.  When asked why I looked like I was near death due to the red eye syndrome, there was no way I was going to admit to watching a 1970’s sheep-infested mini-drama, so I made up some sad story which existed only in my mind.

One of my all-time favourite movies, which no-one seems to understand, is Autumn in New York.  I am not sure if it is Richard Gere, or the sadness that exists within the script, or the fact that it is set in my favourite city, at my favourite time of year, but that movie for me, is a heart stopper.  And now part of that story seems to be playing out here – it is Autumn, the leaves are turning and falling, the Johannesburg skies are crystal clear, the temperature has thankfully dropped a little, and the fact that there is no longer that unbearable heat on a daily basis means that finally, the make-up has stopped sliding off my face by 7am in the school parking lot.

But the point here, is, why does every good love story have to have a taste of sadness, tragedy, loss or longing in order to make it more readable or watchable?  It is sayings such as “it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”, and “the path of true love never does run smooth” that makes us go running faster to that book store or cinema.  It seems that if there is heartache or heartbreak to some great degree, the story sells. 

As a happily single middle aged maiden not in distress, it does make me wonder if I need to expect some sort of complication in my next relationship (this is assuming there IS a next relationship) in order to make it more real, more plausible, and more likely to last for longer than twelve weeks?  Do I need to love, then lose, then be pursued, then won back, and then, only then, enter into an “everlasting love” scenario? 

After much thought, the jury is still out on this debate for me, but I have to say, that if movie-like difficulties are the way of the world called love, I think I may stick to my microwave pop-corn and my triple DVD set called The Thorn Birds.

Life in the very fast lane...: For as long as I can remember, I have been away fr...

Life in the very fast lane...: For as long as I can remember, I have been away fr...: For as long as I can remember, I have been away from home over the Easter weekend.   It is normally beach walks, sea air, and pink gins by...

For as long as I can remember, I have been away from home over the Easter weekend.  It is normally beach walks, sea air, and pink gins by no later than eleven o’clock in the morning, lots of lemon, plenty of ice.  However, this year, with Easter falling at an awkward time in terms of the school calendar I now find myself bound by, my newly manicured feet were held firmly in the leafy suburbs of Johannesburg.

What is interesting about this holiday is that it is so often perceived as just a lovely few days away from the hustle and bustle of our ordinary lives, and yet, as I discovered yesterday, which was Easter Sunday, it is so much more than that.  Given that I was locally based, when my mum said she would meet me at church for the special Easter service, I knew I could run, but there was no way I could hide, so off I went obediently, and in fairly good spirits.

We tend to get to the end of the year and madly run around making our New Year’s Resolutions – this is something I am particularly good at as it involves making a list, and being a secretary at heart, lists and I like each other very much. 

And so it was particularly of interest to me yesterday morning, that Easter is more about new beginnings than the 1^st of January is.  I won’t go into the biblical analogy that was given, but if you think about it, it is indeed about new starts, new clean (Easter) eggs waiting to develop into brand new chicks, and the start of fresh things – in particular, a chance to remember our hopes, our wishes, our dreams.

Of course, this news was a huge relief to me, because if I look at my list of resolutions I diligently drew up at the beach in December, so far, not too much has been accomplished.  So now, this is like “take two” – a chance to start again, and try again, and hope again.

I have been criticised in the past, probably quite rightly, for tending to follow the adage “you get one bite of the cherry” – often quite anti second chances.  Yesterday morning, I thought to myself how wrong this actually is.  If the universal calendar gives us a second chance, are we not also supposed to pick a leaf off our autumn trees, and give each other, and ourselves, another try too?

After much thought, many Easter eggs, and a pink gin or four – I think the time has arrived to forget the Christmas tinsel, and look forward to all those things we thought had tarnished, but in fact, are shiny, bright, and new.