What blows my mind is that Sue Kirby, a close friend in George where I now live, knows Peter. Dave, her husband, met Peter in his primary school days, they went to St Andrew’s, were discharged from the army together and then Pete went to Rhodes and Dave went to Cape Town University. They remained close friends throughout.

Much to my delight, Peter spent the night at Sue’s before going to Knysna to perform his one man show. Sue kindly invited me to lunch. It was incredible seeing my friend of forty years again.
“He’s grown so much older,” was my initial thought.
‘And so have you’, a voice inside me laughed.
Peter still has a wry sense of humour which I discovered with delight. He recounted the last time he had seen me before my stage fall.
“We were at Anne Curteis’s place in the country. For some reason, my young two year old daughter was infatuated with you and spent much of the time sitting on your lap on the lawn.”
He showed me a photograph of this little bundle of mischief who had played on my lap all those years ago. This beautiful woman in her thirties laughed into the camera.

Over lunch I asked him about his production.
“Janice Honeyman said to me: ‘You are a wonderful writer. Write about something that moves you and I will direct your production.’
How could I fail to begin writing immediately?”
Janice Honeyman is an actress, writer and director extrodinaire!!!
I remembered Janice directing me in: Isn’t It Romantic. Janice directs like a dream. I could well understand the relish with which he began to write. He wrote about something that has alway fascinated him, the First World War.
And that was how At All Costs came into being.

The following evening, Sue and I drove to Knysna to see Peter’s production.
We took our seats and I waited eagerly for the performance to begin. The lights brightened and Peter strode through the audience to front of house. Facing us, he began to speak.
The play takes place in the 1970’s. Peter addressed us as a character, David Wells, who is a survivor of the Battle of Delville Wood in 1916. The Battle of Delville Wood was the first major engagement entered into by South Africans on the Western Front during the First World War. For six days and five nights a soldier was killed every minute, with one South African soldier dying every three minutes. David Wells had returned to the wood fifty years later in an attempt to lay his ghosts to rest.
“It has taken me fifty years to face my fears.” 

Peter is a brilliant writer and this is clearly evident in his descriptive use of words in his play. He paints scenes so horrifying in their bleak, guttural truth.
He is also breathtaking as an actor. I don’t think I have seen Peter act before. What I saw that night was heart wrenching. David Wells reached out and took me with him down through the corridors of time so that I too felt the gunfire, smelled the stench of war, the loss, the inhumanity of man. I saw it all there reflected on the face and in the voice of David Wells. At one point, I had to close my eyes because it hurt to be a witness to such pain, anguish and suffering. I had tears running down my face at David’s final words.
“We held the Wood.
At all costs.”

In the First World War, there were 17 million deaths and 25 million casualties. I am enraged at leaders who declare war. Are they sitting in icy cold muddy trenches attempting to shoot someone in an opposite trench? Of course not! They sit comfortably in their offices and order young men to carry out their war for them. And what an unendurable time those young men had to endure between 1914-1918. When the Great War ended in 1918, they swore that was the war to end all wars. Twenty years later, the Second World War began! While Peter and Janice were rehearsing their production, Russia attacked Ukraine. Ukraine was forced to defend herself. 

I wonder what would happen if more women were Presidents or Prime Ministers? I think maybe there would be far fewer wars. Women are more empathetic than men and they are also more far seeing. They consider the consequences of their actions.

Watching Peter Terry playing David Wells was actually a cry out to the world to stop wars.  Wars have gone on from time immemorial.
And I fear they will continue to do so!

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them. – Laurence Binyon

The post Terry & the Terrible Havoc!! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

‘I don’t expect my love affairs to last for long
Never fooled myself that my dreams would come true
Being used to trouble I anticipate it
But all the same I hate it
Wouldn’t you?………’

In 1981 with these exquisitely sung words, Kim Kallie as Peron’s mistress in Evita entered my life. I was twenty, still at drama school, and I sat in the audience utterly transfixed by this beautiful, heart wrenching performance. Bob Martin, the theatre photographer at the time wrote:
“Although it was a cameo role, her performance of one number, “Another suitcase, another show” proved a show-stopper. Of course Rice’s beautifully written lyrics and the song’s pathetic, heartbreaking qualities evoking the audience’s sympathy helped, but I believe it was largely because of the wonderful way Kim sang it.”

I learned that Kim Kallie’s mother was Judy Page. For those of you that have no idea of who Judy Page and Kim Kallie are, let me fill you in.
Judy Page is an outstanding singer and musical theatre performer. She has starred in many musical compilations : Brel, Piaf, Jerome Kern, Rodgers & Hammerstein, Judy Garland and Jerry’s Girls for which she won the Dalro Award for Best Performance in a musical. She is also known for the leads she has played in musicals such as: Chicago, The King and I, Hello Dolly and Mame. In 2012 she was presented with the Naledi Life Time Achievement Award. Being given my own Naledi Award, The Lesedi Spirit of Courage, I can appreciate the pride Judy felt on receiving this phenomenal award.

Kim is a singer supreme and has been awarded numerous platinum records. During the apartheid era, together with Attie Van Wyk and Phill Hollace they created the pseudonym of Margino for Kim. They toured around the country with Kim singing songs that they had collaborated on together. Kim has performed prolifically on stage in numerous successful productions. 

When Kim was growing up, Judy realised with joy that there was another singer in the family. She and Kim recorded Montreal when Kim was 8 (Press here to listen!). It became a number one hit on the Springbok Hit Parade for ten weeks.
“That must have given you such a big thrill, Kim,” I remarked, “Did you excitedly talk about it at school?”
“There were positives and negatives to the whole story which followed a pattern throughout my life – good and bad. I was proud but shy about my recording. I both loved the fact that it was different to all my schoolmates but I also wanted to be one of them, one of the crowd. They were playing sport and I was going to rehearsals and recording studios. I realised that my ‘relative fame’ had an impact on my schoolgirl relationships. It took me years to come to grips with or even understand that. My mum was famous, winning awards and I had a small public profile too. Its tough to be different as a kid.
Would I change it in hindsight?
Never! We have had a wonderful journey together, mum and I.”

Forty years after seeing Evita, I phoned my friend, Kim.
“I am coming to Cape Town for four days. Please may I come and spend my first night with you?”
Kim laughed. “Sure!”

“My little Gaynor!”Judy said softly as she embraced me. It felt like an eternity since we had last seen one another. I got a warm hug from Moshe, Judy’s husband. How wonderful it was to cast my eyes round the dinner table at all the familiar faces that I had missed seeing for so long. Iain Banner, Kim’s husband was a longtime friend of mine. We first knew each other when I was 18. He still had those luscious smiling eyes that had made my heart race all those years ago. My memory is not a reliable instrument since my fall. Iain took great delight in reminding me of the time we had ‘smooched’ wonderfully in a yellow VW. I had totally forgotten about that kiss.
“Did I ‘smooch’ well?” naturally I asked.
Iain grinned. “Like a dream, Gaynor, like an 18 year old dream!”
I laughed. “You daren’t say anything else!”

I was sitting there with two great divas, Judy and Kim. They have allowed their voices to take flight, to whirr around rooms, alighting within people souls. Theatre can change people. So too can music. I have listened to Kim sing and have been so moved that the tears flowed down my cheeks. In the same way, I have laughed with Judy at one of her hilarious characterisations in a song from Jerry’s Girls. I envy both Judy and Kim, their ability to transport people to whatever they sing about. They always left me breathless with awe and my heart remained singing for a long time afterwards.
Before my fall, I had a reasonable voice. I remember sitting with my guitar, harmonising with Mums and getting so much pleasure. My big, lovable father used to weep every time I played: Both Sides Now.
Music is an amazingly potent and effective force.

Judy mentioned performing at Sun City years ago.
“I’ve never been there. I would love to go,” I commented.
“Yes, you have,” said Judy.
“No, I’ve never been to Sun City,” I said definitely.
“Gaynor, after your fall, you were at Headway. I was performing at Sun City at the time. I arranged for you and the whole of Headway to come and see me perform.”
“Oh…” I breathed as forgotten images fought together in my mind to become clearer. Suddenly the memory was there, sparkling brightly.
“Remember?” Judy’s deep husky voice prompted.
“Yes..yes…and you said in front of all those people…”
“I told them how you and I had been doing a production together. And each morning I would go and get into my car and there was a sprig of jasmine on the windscreen from you. Which was your way of saying: ‘Hi there, Judy! I’ll be waiting for you in rehearsal with a cup of coffee!’
I was so pleased to have this wonderful memory back.
I looked at Judy all these years later and the old affection and love came tumbling like blossoms from a tree, alighting us both with pink happiness.
“I love you, Judy”
She smiled. “As I love you, my Gaynor.”

She told me that before my fall, I went and saw her perform in The Cellar in Durban. After the show I said to her: “Judy, what a magnificent performance. I watched you closely and I know. I know how you do it!”
When Judy recounted this remark thirty five years later, I eagerly said: “And how did I say you’d done it, Judes?”
“You never told me. You simply gave me a knowing look, winked and walked out the dressing room with your arm above your head and your finger pointing skywards  shouting: “I know your secret!”
“Damn, how I wish I could be that “knowing” theatre person of 35 year ago,” I exclaimed.
“So do I,” Judy laughed. “I would love to know what you knew then.”

Kim mentioned a time when their family was living in England.
“Yes, I…I..I think I remember you lived in England for a couple of years,” I said hesitantly.
“You should do,” Kim laughed. “You came and spent three days with us in Checkendon.”
Once again I felt my mind juggling around.
“Yes,” I finally exclaimed joyfully, “yes, I did.”
“We had heard of your show My Plunge to Fame in South Africa” Kim continued “and we persuaded you to perform it in our garden. It was packed with people.”
“That’s right,” I exclaimed. “They donated money in a hat. They were so generous! I used the money from that evening to fund the rest of my stay in England. Kim, I had forgotten all about that incredible time I spent with you Banners. Oh, I am so glad I have that memory back again!”

Judy and Kim love performing together. They have a mutual understanding of each other and this translates into a glimmering ease onstage. In rehearsal, they value each other’s input and are able draw out the best and discard the unnecessary. When watching Kim perform, Judy marvels at this woman who used to lie in her womb and rejoices in her musicality.
Kim says: “Mum was an absolute trailblazer, trend setter and a total beauty in her day. And then she had that voice!” She laughed. “She still has that voice!”

Ten years ago, Kim opened a school: The Kim Kallie Performance Academy. What unbelievable joy this Academy brings her. Students range from eight years old to eighty! They flourish under the extraordinary guidance of Kim and her team. As Kim says: “The aim is to enrich and help students discover their potential….They need self esteem, courage and a good work ethic to survive in this industry.”
I have watched some of these students on video and Kim must surely rejoice at what they are achieving. They are able to join the music and theatrical fraternities, form their own bands and book their own gigs.
This is how it should be! Passing on to others what you have learned in your life and then watching these little fledglings test out their wings, leap and…FLY!!!

I lay in bed that night elated by my re-discovered memories and my wonderful friends. I believe that people come into your life for a reason. Judy, Kim, Iain and Moshe were all there for me to conjure up memories and to remind me of what makes up friendship. The song, For Good from the musical Wicked recorded by Kim and Judy during Covid lockdown expresses exactly that:

I’ve heard it said
That people come into our lives
For a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led to those
Who help us most to grow if we let them
And we help them in return…….

(Press here to listen!)

The post People Come Into Our Lives For A Reason…. appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Excerpt from my journal:
9th December 1989

It is 5.00 in the morning and I can’t sleep. I should be grabbing what sleep I can because I’m going to need all my energy today but I am beside myself! This afternoon and evening, as understudy, I am taking over from Kate Normington who is ill, and playing the lead role of Guinevere in Camelot at the State Theatre in Pretoria. Yes, yes, I know that I haven’t been given a dress or a technical rehearsal but I will be incredible, I know it. Please, dear Lord, could You watch over me today? Let me throw my nerves to one side and sing and act like a dream!
I am getting up to make myself some coffee now.  At 6.00 am I must phone my baby sister, Megs, and wish her a Happy 18th Birthday! Glory, how can my little Megs already be 18? And then this day truly begins! I cannot let myself down. I will not let myself down! I know all the songs and dances. I must remember to enjoy myself!
Tomorrow morning, I will write all about today’s performances. WHOOPEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

                                     .
                                       .
                                         .
                                           .
                                             .
Excerpt from my journal:
9th December 2021

It has been 32 years since that life changing appearance onstage.
Thirty-two years since that young understudy stood in the wings awaiting her entrance. Her heart must have been beating madly. The music reached a certain point and she ran onto the stage.
“Saint Genevieve, Saint Genevieve, it’s Guinevere, remember me?….’ she sang.
How I wish I could remember that performance. Unfortunately my whole Camelot experience is wiped from my memory. But I believe that on 9th December 1989, I was FAN-bloody-TASTIC!!!

I am amazed at how many people remember hearing about my fall. I fell 18 metres down an unguarded lift shaft. Apart from broken limbs, ribs, a punctured lung, broke bones in my face, I suffered terrific brain damage. This resulted in me being deaf, having 40% eyesight and being spastic down my right hand side.

I am astonished at how quickly life can alter. I was a fairly good actress. I hoped that with time, I could mature into a superb one. I planned to get married, have children and continue acting. Indeed, the future beckoned. With one incorrect step, all of that changed.

But today I am not wanting to dwell on everything that went wrong all those years ago. There is too much that is going right at present. Too much to be grateful for!

My heart softens in appreciation when I think of my parents and family. I knew the one thing I need never doubt was their love and support. I put them all through so much and there was never a complaint. After my fall, I used to have these red faced tantrums because I wished to go back to Johannesburg and act. Can you believe it? I was obviously refusing to look at what I had become. 

And yet, four years after my fall, I made it back onstage in my one woman show My Plunge to Fame. This was all due to Maralin Vanrenen. She had directed me as an actress and knew what I was capable of achieving. She now directed me in my show My Plunge to Fame. In it, I was not acting. Those days were over. I was performing as Gaynor Young telling my story. My fall affected me in so many ways. I was now unable to memorise lines but I knew what I needed to say. And say it I did but in a different way each performance. It must have been heart stopping for M. I am so grateful for her belief in me. Her trust and love!

Since my fall, even after receiving my Cochlear Implants, watching television is still difficult for me. It is incredibly awkward to lip read, and accents are a real challenge. And so I have subtitles on everything I watch. On DSTV there are only about seven channels that have subbies. As a result I find myself enjoying Netflix. Recently I had to phone my audiologist, Jenny Perold with an issue with my CI’s. My problem sorted out, Jen said to me: “How is your TV Streamer going?”
This is a small black speaker which I’d placed next to my television.
“It doesn’t work for me, Jen. I have put it next to my TV and it makes no difference whatsoever.”
In exasperation, Jenny explained that there was more to it than that. So my friend, B and I dragged out my Cochlear Implant haversack from under my bed. We read through the TV Streamer manual. There certainly was much more to it than I had anticipated. We had to pair both Cochlear Implants to the Streamer. I loved doing this because of the bright blue sparkle that appeared on the Cochlear Implant’s control panel. B then took my phone which has the Nucleus Cochlear Implant Smart App on it. She fiddled around some more and then said to me: “Okay, switch the television on now.”
I did and sat down in shock. I could hear every word that was spoken. Every single word! The sound rolled deliciously around in my head.
“I can hear it!” I said to myself watching a re-play of Survivors.
“Switch it off, B”, I said to this beaming, magical elf. (She is very small!)
She touched my cell phone again and instantly the sound in my head was gone. The picture still remained on the television but the sound was off.
“So there’s no way that I can come and watch TV with you. You take all the sound into your head with you,” B joked.
A couple of months ago, my neighbour upstairs sent me an SMS asking me if I would mind turning my television down. I was mortified and since then have been incredibly careful with my volume. Now there is no need. I can have the television blaring LOUDLY in my head. I am the only one that can hear it.  And I can hear it like never before! 

Recently my friends and I were walking in the forest. I stopped to catch my breath. Leah and I sat on the trunk of one of my favourite trees, a Belhambra. Around us the stunning trees gazed regally down. I looked far up at their leafy boughs and beyond to the bits of blue sky poking inquisitively through. Then I closed my eyes and listened. I listened to the silence of the silence….which was cacophonous in it’s sounds. Leah seemed to be listening too. Having been embedded in silence for eighteen years and then re-granted my hearing through my Cochlear Implants, listening is now a vital part of living for me. I heard so many different birds all trying to outcall each other. The sound of the wind rustling the differing leaves together. Our surroundings were murmuring and softly playing a gentle hymn all their own. I have not been going to church because of Covid. But church is wherever you find God. I was so aware of His presence that morning in the forest. My heart smiled. Thank You, thank You for giving me this!

Today, my sister, Megs turns 50! That’s a long way from the 18 she turned 32 years ago.  May your fifties bring you so much jubilance, excitement, contentment and happiness, my special ‘young one’!!!

Recently my friend, Andre Hattingh, made a list of all the performers and creators who have died over the past two years. Presently it numbers 139. So many of them were dear, cherished friends. It has made me aware that I must grab each moment of this wonderful life I live and shout: Yes! Yes, I love the experience of living!
And I intend to do it with vigour, tenderness, awareness, joy and most of all, love!

Art Garfunkel says it so perfectly in his song: Grateful 

I’ve got a roof over my head
I‘ve got a warm place to sleep
Some nights I lie awake counting gifts
Instead of counting sheep
I’ve got a heart that can hold love
I’ve got a mind that can think
There may be times when I lose the light
And let my spirits sink
But I can’t stay depressed
When I remember how I’m blessed
Grateful, grateful
Truly grateful I am
Grateful, grateful
Truly blessed
And duly grateful

In a city of strangers
I got a family of friends
No matter what rocks and brambles fill the way
I know that they will stay until the end
I feel a hand holding my hand
It’s not a hand you can see
But on the road to the promised land
This hand will shepherd me
Through delight and despair
Holding tight and always there
Grateful, grateful
Truly grateful I am
Grateful, grateful
Truly blessed
And duly grateful

It’s not that I don’t want a lot
Or hope for more, or dream of more
But giving thanks for what I’ve got
Makes me happier than keeping score
In a world that can bring pain
I will still take each chance
For I believe that whatever the terrain
Our feet can learn to dance
Whatever stone life may sling
We can moan or we can sing
Grateful, grateful
Truly grateful I am
Grateful, grateful
Truly blessed
And duly grateful
Truly blessed
And duly grateful.

The post Grateful!!! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

I had noticed grey mould in three places in my kitchen. Also on the outer wall of the kitchen which faces the lounge, there were cracks decorating it in long squiggly lines.
Cracks and mould in your kitchen is liable to cause a mini-heart attack amidst floods of tears! I instantly called our complex supervisor before these conditions worsened causing even more disruption and devastation in my kitchen! 

Dewald is our supervisor and over the years he has become a wonderful friend.
Studying my kitchen cracks and mould, he said: “You’ve been here since these flats were built which is…” he cast about for the figure.
“Fifteen years,” I supplied.
“Right,” he affirmed, “do you remember the geyser above your bedroom which burst, resulting in you having to have your whole ceiling replaced.”
“Glory, yes, I had forgotten about that.”
“Maybe some of the water also leaked through to your kitchen, this would explain the mouldy marks. But these long cracks in the wall,” he exhaled. “Gaynor, I think your kitchen needs redecorating.”
My heart sank.
Getting a crew of painters in during these Covid times was not an appealing thought. No, I would just have to live with mouldy and cracked kitchen walls. My thoughts were interrupted by:
“I’ll do it,” said Dewald.
Two days later, the kitchen stripped of everything, my fridge and microwave sitting in my lounge looking embarrassed and ungainly but working nonetheless, Dewald began work.

My sister suggested that I paint one wall a different colour to the rest of the kitchen. I loved that idea. Originally, the whole flat was painted a mellow buttermilk. I liked the colour very much but now the kitchen deserved a change. I decided to paint it this soft cream. Apart from the main wall. This was going to be a startling bright daffodil gold.

Dewald spent four days completing my kitchen. It wasn’t simply a case of painting the new colours onto the walls. There was scraping, sanding and filling more cracks than I cared to see. Then the right colour paint had to be chosen. Dewald had a gentle cream colour which I liked. I went off to Paintsmiths where I finally found a terrific daffodil yellow gold.
Perfect! 

I watched with bated breath as Dewald began to apply the yellow.
“Oh glory, have I chosen the wrong colour? Is it too brash and…and a yucky yellow?”
Dewald was becoming impatient with me peering over his shoulder. When my friend, B arrived five minutes later, he said with relief: “Please take her out for the next few hours. I feel like a small animal being watched by an eagle. One wrong move and I’m done for!”

It was a cold, grey day outside when I returned to a kitchen full of sunshine. The golden yellow seemed alight with an energy all of its own. My wall seemed to say: “It doesn’t matter what it is like outside. Here where I reign, is a sunburst of light. This is a place for smiles and laughter!”

My golden wall is now decorated with art that means so much to me: My cousin Antonia’s painting that she did when she was seven. She is now a gorgeous married woman of twenty-three. My niece, Megan’s painting done five years ago. I have an abstract Lisl Barrie landscape and a ‘Green Door’, a painting of Perdita by my friend Dessie Evans and the first painting that B ever did. All of these contain memories of happiness buried deep within them.

It is small wonder that my golden wall causes a smile to blossom with my first cup of coffee!

Sitting on my microwave beside my wall are three duck candles. They have been there for years.
“Now you match perfectly!”
These golden waxen ducks were a gift from Dawn Lindberg. To me, my ducks are priceless. They conjure up the image of Dawn’s big smile. Mums recently told me that when I was a schoolgirl, she used to drop me off at Dawn’s for guitar lessons. I want to say to Dawn: “You see, this is one of the reasons I don’t remember being introduced to you as an actor. You had already won your place in my heart years previously.”
This explains the feeling of Dawn always being there.

Four years after my fall, I went back onstage in my one woman show My Plunge to Fame. I had discovered that I was no longer able to learn words. You can imagine my fear standing in the wings awaiting my stage entrance not knowing what I was going to say. An hour later I took my curtain call to a standing ovation. My family were in the front row. I looked at them and smiled. And then I gazed out at the rest of the audience. Isn’t it strange how I can remember one person out of a theatre filled with masses of friends. Standing in the back row at the left of the theatre, with a glorifying smile was Dawn. Her facial expression was wide and beaming with affirmation.

The Naledi Awards, were created by Dawn in 2004 and she and her husband, Des established them as the most respected theatre awards in South Africa. In 2016 I received an email from Dawn explaining that they were introducing a new category, The Lesedi Spirit of Courage Award. They wished to present the first one to me. Mums and I were given air flights to Johannesburg to attend the ceremony.
What an utterly shiny, bright golden moment that was!

Dawn Lindberg fell victim to that killer, Covid. She died on the 6th December 2020.
I look at my golden Dawn ducks with gratitude for everything she meant to me as a youthful guitarist and later as my special friend.
I miss her.
Deeply.

Turning from my golden kitchen wall, my eyes are caught by yet more gold. My beautiful mongoose painting by Peter Pharoah is caught by a ray of sunshine and seems to glow.
Many years ago, I had the good fortune to make a film in the Mala Mala game reserve. It was there that the pert, cheeky mongoose introduced himself to me. In my mongoose painting  differing golds abound creating the image of a curious, peering mongoose. It’s wonderful how a photograph or painting can transport you to another place. Those differing golds intertwine and carry me to a Land Rover bumping it’s way through the veld, watched by the eyes of zebra, lion, elephant and those of the inquisitive mongoose.

I look out at my small garden. It is a sunny but chilly day. A leaf is caught in a vortex. It performs a golden dance all it’s own, glinting and glistening as it pirouettes in the breeze. I stand watching it move – gold, dark, gold again.

Such is life. There are incredibly dark times. And then brilliant golden moments. The recent horrific looting in KwaZulu-Natal and Gauteng, followed by the gold of people working together to clean up the mess. I think of my golden wall and the joy it brings me, the golden sunlight falling through the trees, the wonderful golden smile of Mums as she greets me each day.

My life is overflowing with gold……………

********************************************************************************************************************

If anyone is interested in utilising my blog advertising space to promote their company or products please don’t hesitate to get in touch – email: gaynory1@gmail.com

The post Gold! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Hummmmmm…….
I could write about my new canine friend, Leah, who shares my home with me or my forest walks or my new brace…No, none of these topics fired my imagination. I decided to take a break and visit my friends on Facebook. Hummmmm or no hummmm, this seemed a far more interesting prospect.

This poem had obviously been waiting for me. I had no sooner turned to Facebook when it leapt out and grabbed me. I couldn’t believe it. It was Humming at me in it’s almost breathless glory.

the older I seem to get
             the less I believe in silence
I’ve become a silence denier
there isn’t any way of escaping it
                                           everywhere I go
a sound is always ringing in my ears
and the quieter I get
           the more I can hear it
and the more it stirs me
the hum of God
I hear it whenever everything else is muted
~ it’s like
huuuummmmmmmmmmmmm
but it’s much deeper than that
~ it’s more like
HUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMM
the sound sometimes seems
as if it’s coming from far
                          below my feet
almost like the mantle of the Earth is calling
for me to remember to plant gardens
in every open field I discover
almost like the fire in the core of the planet
is reminding me to burn fearlessly
for a hundred billion years
then sometimes the humming seems
as if it’s coming from the
air above me
almost like my floating guardian angel is
singing a baritone song about my
my coming resurrection
almost like the sound of ten-thousand blue-red
butterflies beating their wings in unison
under a dripping mid-May sky…….

This brilliant poem continues and echoes with resplendence throughout. You must read it. Laugh! This is me giving you an order – YOU MUST READ IT! I haven’t yet told you maybe the important part of the poem, the poet is John Roedel!

John wrote his first item of great significance when he was about eight. He had a massive crush on Stacy, a rosy cheeked girl with cascading blonde hair. He wrote her a story about a horse with the name ‘Dusty Brown Coat’ who yearned to escape from his ranch. Roedel can’t actually remember the whole story excepting that Dusty was devoured by a wolf. Stacy was aghast at this horrifying tale and refused to speak to Roedel for a week. Undaunted Roedel continued to write because he found that it gave him a voice and it seemed to give him a sense of direction. Nowadays John finds that writing gives him great pleasure. As he says: “These days I write for my own mental health. Writing is the one thing I feel truly connected to.”

Before my fall from the State Theatre stage, I also wrote for pleasure. I kept journals and wrote about the exciting processes during rehearsals, thoughts that whirred through my head, my despair when I was out of work. After my accident, when I finally emerged from my coma, my memory had totally disappeared. On re-discovering these journals, they were eye opening for me. It was like looking at the script of a totally foreign person. Things that I had no memory of were laid out before me. Reading over them today, I am amazed at my fluency with language and the magical way words tumbled out of me. What a difference between the Gaynor then and the Gaynor now. Words now play this wonderful game of hide and seek before eventually giving in and toppling out onto my iPad.

John and his wife, Jennifer have three sons, Noah, Riley and Logan. Three years after Noah was born, he was diagnosed with Autism.
“The first seven or eight years of his life were a kind of trench warfare,” said John. “Getting Noah speaking and to be able to do any kind of self care was a major battle. The doctors told us at the beginning that very probably he would have no ability to have any independent living.”

After my fall, the doctors told my parents on leaving hospital, that it would be best to put me into an institution. I would never be able to do anything other than lie in bed, eyes wide open, staring mindlessly at the ceiling.

From 2003 to 2013 John says: “We were just hanging in there, teaching Noah and hoping. But Noah worked so hard, over and over and over. Gradually his bits of independence began to shine through. Noah began to take his “steps” alone and need me less.”

How I relate to Noah.
After my accident, I returned to stay with my parents a 28 year old babe in arms. Not able to walk, talk, hear, having only 40% of my sight, being spastic down my right hand side and having a mental age of a child at times. My parents had to show me what a knife, fork and spoon were for and how to use them. I remember sitting in the bath and screaming at the blood I could see pouring out of me. You can imagine my Mums’s difficulty explaining to her newly deaf daughter the facts of life!

Like John and Jennifer, my parents gradually had to release their protective grip and allow me to discover independent steps myself. I have no doubt that Noah, John and Jennifer went through times of immense frustration. I did. I wanted to go back to the life I used to live in Johannesburg as an actor. Excepting, that life was no more. It took a while to discover the ‘new’ me within my different world.

After the birth of Noah, John fell into a deep dark place. He felt as if he was in this sinister forest from where there was no escape. I know this dark, foreboding place. I also visited it. John did the one thing that came easily to him. He wrote. What better place to express this ‘angst’, this turmoil he was experiencing than through words. He points out that writing is not therapy but it is very therapeutic.
He started having fake conversations with God.
Hey God.
Hey John.
And then the conversations would begin.
John says: “And at first they were just supposed to be silly, funny little things where I would joke about my little crisis of confidence, my spirituality or my lack of faith. And the more I did that, the more I started opening up my life and actual talking about real things. People began reacting to what I had to say. I found that the more I shared of my true self, the more people related and that seemed to spur the connectivity between us.
I have always believed in God. The thing is, I had long held the suspicion that God had stopped believing in me. For me, having faith in God was like trying to catch a salmon in a wide Wyoming river with just my bare hands. I often felt like a bumbling detective looking for clues to the great mystery of spirituality!”

In 2018, John’s book  Hey God. Hey John was published.
I found it a joy to read because so many of his stumbling blocks echoed in my life. And God’s answers were astute, humorous and startling in their accuracy.
John says: “I often couldn’t believe the words that appeared before me as I bashed the keyboard and typed out God’s responses. Was this God actually talking to me or was it the manifestation of some inner wisdom I had no idea that I possessed? Possibly both! One thing I am convinced of is that the advice God gave me was the exact words I needed to hear at that moment.”

How John’s feelings resonated with me. 

We had both had life changing episodes. As a result, we both turned to writing and to bombarding God with questions and thoughts. In 2000 my book My Plunge to Fame was published. In my book, I questioned why God allowed my life to change in such a dramatic manner. I still haven’t discovered the answer but somehow that question has lost it’s relevance! 

I find John’s writing incredibly moving. 

“Whenever I start to get the feeling that I’m becoming twisted up on the inside I sit down and write about all the miracles and magic I have witnessed by walking with my son on his journey with autism. 

He is truly my mentor. 

I wrote this piece two years ago because I needed to read every single word of it at the time. Every word that I scrawled came from a room in my heart I never knew existed. 

Our son’s daily masterclass on courage and perseverance amid the darkest of raging storms has been our shelter. His hope-soaked heart has been my North Star.

This is all such an adventure.

Autism has
taught me
that life isn’t
about
fixing what
you think that
has been broken

There is
no fixing
people

There is nothing
to fix

autism isn’t another word
for broken

I swear

there is nothing
to fix
people living with autism
aren’t a leaky
dishwasher

or a car that
has a permanent
check engine light

people living with autism
are not broken 

they are people!

autism isn’t a rubix cube

autism isn’t an escape room

autism is a piece of
exotic stained glass
that reflects the light
of creation in ways
you have never
seen before 

autism is an ancient
language where
sarcasm and insincerity
have no translation

it is the lost tongue of
warm tones and
six hour smiles

it is the language of
hearts sewn on sleeves and
honest raw sentiment

autism is the
inherent language of
humanity where
the only vowels
that are counted
are U & I

I spent years
trying to fix
autism
until I learned
that the person
who needed fixing
was me

my child not only
had to live with
autism but he
also had to live
with my ego

I could not see
that
true beauty
lies in what
is different

I could not see
that
our quest for perfection
is the slowest
poison of all

there was no need
to repair a mosaic

there was only
trying to understand my son
by learning his cipher
of autism

it wasn’t about repair

it was about connection

it is about finding
a way to speak to
each other
despite the
static in our
radio signal

it is all about  
building a bridge
between our hearts
that is wide enough
to transport all of
my love for him

it was about
holding his
trembling hands when
he got lost
in our world of
symbols and
subtle glances

it was about showing
up every day
and becoming a
candle even when
I was a sea of dark thoughts

autism has
taught me
that life isn’t
growing a symmetrical garden
of matching red roses

autism taught me
that life is about
watching wildflowers
grow between the cracks
in the pavement

there is no typical
nothing is normal

every person
is a unique creation
that demands to
be honoured

autism taught me
that rainbows are liars

there are millions
more colours to this life
than their are names
to call them

autism isn’t just the colour blue

autism is the colour
of love
and courage
and the soul 

autism isn’t another word
for broken

I swear

As he says: “Every day I wake up and sit down at my keyboard, and with God’s help, little by little, I am pushing open that little door in my heart.”

Like John, I know that feeling so well.

The post Parallels! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Survive I have.
Within that survival I discovered laughter, delight, excitement and most important of all – LOVE. 

It is with an overflowing of love that I wish you all:
A VERY HAPPY AND BLESSED CHRISTMAS!!!

The post A Survivor’s Christmas! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Red and yellow and pink and green
Purple and orange and blue,
I can sing a rainbow,
Sing a rainbow,
Sing a rainbow too.
Listen with your ears,
Listen with your eyes,
And sing everything you see!
I can sing a rainbow,
Sing a rainbow,
Sing along with me…

This song learnt at nursery school, played through my mind constantly when I recently viewed the flowers in the West Coast National Park.
B and her husband, John who are ‘swallows’ spending five months of the year in England, were actually caught here when South Africa’s lockdown was declared. As B said: “I would far rather be in George than in England during this COVID time.”

Secretly I gave a silent cheer when they were trapped in SA. B and John had often bewailed the fact that they were on the wrong continent when the West Coast flowers bloomed. So B, John, a dear friend, Christine and I set off for Riebeek Kasteel, where we were to spend one night before heading for a two night stop in the queen of all flower spots, Darling.

Travelling with Christine was a hoot. She is the Secretary of the Eden branch of WESSA (Wildlife & Environment Society of South Africa) and her knowledge of plants and natural history is vast. We would see fields that were beautifully patchworked with vibrant purple succulents. The squeal of delight from Christine at the colourful mass of flowers, made me very glad that B, who is a responsible driver was at the wheel!

We arrived safely in Riebeek Kasteel late in the day. We were very nervous about staying in hotels because of COVID. However, a friend of ours had just recently returned and told us which hotels to stay in.
“They observe the COVID regulations perfectly.”
And indeed, we never saw the hotel owners without their masks and our rooms were wonderfully sterile and clean. 

I flopped onto my gorgeous four poster bed, glad to have a few moments of quiet before dinner. At six thirty, B put her head around the door and with a sparkle in her eye, said: “Gaye, you’ve got a visitor!”
“Visitor? I don’t know anyone from here,” I said getting up. And that was when a well loved face from my Durban past, peered around the door.
“Drews!” I exclaimed.
I met Heidi Drew in church in Durban about eighteen years ago. As the congregants led out, I saw one woman remain seated. She was crying. I couldn’t bear to simply walk away, so I quietly went and sat down next to her and put my hand on hers. I am so grateful for that hand clasp for on that day a strong friendship was born. When last I had contact with Drews, she was living in Cape Town.
“What are you doing here?” I asked in amazement. 
“I moved here a few months ago.  B noticed this on Facebook and contacted me.”
B had met Drews through me and they were firm friends.
Conversation sparkled and flowed between us and we ended up at her house sampling dessert wine and blueberry flavoured olives!

I lay in my fourposter bed that night and gave thanks for the friendship that had begun eighteen years ago through the touching of hands in church.
“And while I am speaking of friendship, dear Lord, every night I speak about the same thing. I am aware that it must get very boring for you but I’m sorry, Lord, you’re stuck with it – my special friend – Daves.”

Daves and I became close friends after he introduced himself outside the restaurant, Travelbugs, in George. He explained that he and his wife had recently moved to George and that his best friend was my acting buddy, Peter Terry. I looked into his mischievous, smiling eyes and our friendship began to blossom and grow.

About fourteen months prior to our flower expedition, Dave (Daves to me!) was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. I went to stay with B and John during the first five months of lockdown. Daves and his wife, Sue, lived virtually next door. 

Daves and I would meet outside his house at 7.45 in the morning and go for delightful walks around the golf estate. I walked carefully because of my brace and Daves also walked at a medium pace. We chatted nonstop. And it wasn’t just normal chit chat. We shared deep things that meant a lot to us. At the end of each walk, he would look at this little machine he carried and say: “We walked 2,7 kms today. Not as good as yesterday when we did 3 kms.”
It broke my heart when finally he couldn’t manage our walks anymore.
“I’m sorry, Gaye-Girl, I’m gonna have to give these walks a break for a moment.”

As the months passed Daves became more frail. And yet, do you know what blows my mind? Not once did I ever hear Daves complain. Not once!

When we decided to go and see the flowers, Daves exclaimed: “You’ve never seen the flowers? Oh, Gaye-Girl, you will absolutely love them. Take lots of pictures so I can see what you see. Sue and I visited them several years ago but I believe that this year they are outstanding.”

How right Daves was. I have no words to describe the wonderful sights that greeted me each day. Fields and fields of  incredible jewels of flowers. Sparkling upwards they seemed to open in this wonderful harmony that filled the air with a chorus of joy.

I laughed at Christine. She spent much of her time, bum in the air, as she inspected the unusual botanical treasures that caught her interest. A shout from her, and the rest of us would charge across to inspect and discuss her amazing discoveries.

I received a message from Daves giving me a short history of Riebeek Kasteel that he had found on the internet. I loved the way that he was making sure he was sharing this experience with me. In Darling, Christine and I shared a room. The wonderful thing about being deaf is that it doesn’t matter if the other person snores up a storm. I always have blissfully soundless nights! 

Early the next morning, I was sitting on a rock surveying the most extraordinary scene. There was the blue of the ocean that shimmered it’s ballad to the skies. And surrounding me a chorus was being raised to the world in their flowering millions.
‘How can I possibly do justice to this with a mere photo for Daves?’ I wondered.
My phone suddenly gave a ‘ping’. Drawing my eyes away from the glory surrounding me in every direction, I saw it was a message from Sue. I went cold all over and the glory before me seemed to shiver in it’s soundless beauty. The night before, Daves had a stroke and was now in hospital. He was paralysed and couldn’t speak. The glittering blooms surrounding me glistened upwards.

Life is such an inexplicably strange yet alluringly wonderful thing. It has moments of incredible joy and beauty and also tragedy and heartache. My heart hurts that Daves never saw my pictures of those beautiful emeralds, pearls, sapphires and ruby-like flowers spread out before me. Yet I think of the multitude of jewels he bought into my life with that first greeting outside Travelbugs. I often hear Daves’s voice when I open my curtains in the morning saying: “Gaye-Girl, it’s a beautiful day. Go out and soak it up!”

Next year I would love to take Sue to ‘Daves Place’. I know he will be smiling down from on high at all the treasures laid out for us. 

“My Sue and Gaye-Girl,” I can hear him say, “isn’t life beautiful?
Savour and remember!”

I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow too.

The post Life’s Rainbow! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

‘Spring iz sprung, da grass iz riz,
I wonder where dem boidies iz?
Da little boids is on da wing.
Ain’t dat absoid?
Da little wings iz on da boid.’

The American poet, Ogden Nash, gets the blame for this wonderful poem about spring.
Spring!
September 1st marked the beginning of spring. I sleep with my curtains open and wake each morning at 5.30. With a cup of coffee in my hand, my iPad on my lap, I watch the brilliant scene of the rising sun play out before me. It’s gentle rays almost tentatively seem to peer over the Outeniqua Mountains and then more boldly the rest of the sun follows. It embraces the world in it’s sublime pinks, purples, and oranges as the early morning casts away it’s mantle of the night. During winter, I have normally finished two cups of coffee before greeting the day. On the opening of spring, I finished one and smiled at daybreak.

Jasmine to me, is the scent of spring. The rich, heady perfume seems to fill my heart as I acknowledge that spring has finally arrived. Unfortunately I don’t have a jasmine bush in my small garden, but every time I enter or leave Mums’s house, I am assailed by the smell of spring. Her jasmine bush grows at the front door. I stand in my own garden and I look at the beautiful pink shoots of my rose. It has realised that winter is over and new little sprouts taste the air in anticipation of the life to come.

I can see very definite seasonal changes taking place in life. Everyone’s life has a spring, summer, autumn and winter before finally encountering death. Yet within life, there are different sorts of changes that can definitely be looked upon as seasonal. 

After the deep, dark winter of my fall, spring began slowly as I began to beat and crack the ice that had formed around me. It had frozen in such a way that this was not ice that simply melted in the sun. It had dehumanised me and required a slow thaw by means of love and therapy. I took heart when I beat off it’s icy grip and was able to stand once more. Gradually I was able to shake free of the last icy tentacles as I learnt to walk, move my body and talk again. Spring had definitely taken hold as I slowly but surely moved towards summer.

Four years after my fall, Maralin Vanrenen directed me in my one woman show, My Plunge to Fame. I was performing as Gaynor telling the story of my life. I entered into this summer of my existence with awe and an unbelievable joy. In rehearsal, realising that I was no longer able to learn words, M threw away my script and said: “Now tell me about your life.”
How utterly terrifying! Having no script, each time I performed it was a different show, all contained within a set framework.

On opening night, I remember waiting in the wings for my signal from the stage manager to move on stage and praying: “Please Lord, give me the words tonight.”
Afterwards I stood taking my curtain call to a standing ovation. I revelled in the summer breeze of people standing, applauding my show for the next eight months. 

All summers come to an end. I had forgotten this and the autumn hit me like a slap in the face. I was unprepared for the winter that followed.

After performing all over the country and twice in London, I returned to my flat in Durban. When you are alone, you look at yourself – critically. Suddenly, since my fall, I didn’t care how far I had progressed. I looked at myself in the mirror and how I hated the image that greeted me. All my deformities, everything that was wrong with me caused tears to seep from my eyes. I couldn’t hear people so conversation was difficult. I walked with a dreadful limp. I was so evidently spastic down my right hand side that I cringed inside. Where had all my dreams gone: I was going to be an admired actor with a husband and possibly two children. The actor had disappeared in Camelot that day. As for a husband? Who would ever marry me now? And children? I gave a mirthless laugh.
Slowly the winter ice began to stealthily freeze around my heart once more.

Suicide.
I planned it carefully.
I bought 2 bottles of red wine and a pile of sleeping tablets. I ran a lovely hot bath with a little jasmine essence poured in. Spring in a bath, I liked that. I planned to take my life by drinking the wine together with the sleeping tablets. I would fall asleep in the bath. What better way than going with expensive bottles of red wine in a beautifully scented spring bath? I climbed into the hot bath and poured myself some wine. This was the most expensive wine I had ever bought. I placed the sleeping tablets neatly along the edge of the bath.
‘Mums would approve of my neatness,’ I thought. And that finished me. I remembered everything that Dad and Mums had done for me since my fall. How they had stood by me, coaxing me back to living once more. And now, here was yours truly literally throwing it in their faces and saying: ‘I don’t care. Living is too difficult. I want out!’
It would destroy them. How could I do that? But what about me? Life was a bitter pill to swallow. Life or the blessing of no more struggles – oblivion! I sat in the bath, my mind in turmoil. It was then I realised I needed help. I needed hope back in my life once more.

Enter my clinical psychologist, Shirley Tollman.
The bliss of being able to talk about the dark things inside to someone who didn’t know me. She helped me understand myself and deal with my various problems.
Think of a beautiful tree in a storm. It is struck by lightning and different parts are burnt and singed. Indeed the whole tree is affected. But in spring new shoots begin to grow amongst this blackened mass. Only these grow in a totally different way making the tree look strange yet wonderfully weird.
This was me. Yes, I might look different with my spasticity, my squonk eye, my limp but in a rather wonderful way, I have grown new branches that I have discovered are invaluable to me. These are the branches of empathy, of knowing what a bad situation is like and being able to relate to people in ways that were unknown to me before my fall.
I had forgotten that after every winter there is a spring. Shirley helped me discover spring once more.

Throughout our lives there are many hard crushing winters, but there is always the spring that arrives. At this time of year, the days bristle with renewed signs of life everywhere. The spirit of starting anew takes hold. I laugh at myself! Today fresh with the fever of spring, I set off with my friends for a walk in the forest. My eyes were not on the beautiful scenery we were passing through but on the ground to see where to step. Every now and again, I would shout: “Please may we stop?”
Then I would gaze around me with awe at the soaring trees, the waterfall…and the beginning of spring.
Afterwards my friend said to me that it was the most difficult walk she had taken me on. I discovered that with my gorgeously helpful leg brace, on that beautiful spring morning, I had walked the furthest I had ever walked – nine kilometres!

I love spring!

The post Spring has Sprung! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

“I went for a walk in Africa at the foot of the Outeniqua Mountains.”
                         – Karen Blixen, sorry, I mean, Gaynor Young!!!

I am usually unable to join my friends on their wonderful mountain and forest walks.

With my spastic right hand side, I find climbing the rocky twists and turns impossible to navigate. The photographs that they take are often displayed on our George Friends WhatsApp group. I peruse them avidly. Indubitably I would say to my friend: “B, those pathways don’t look too difficult. I’m sure I would have been able to cope with them.”
Patiently B would explain that I definitely would not have managed. They would have proved to be fairly treacherous for me!
Until last week. 

The route for the normal Sunday morning walk was posted on WhatsApp by  Jan. B said slightly hesitantly: “I think that you might be able to do this walk. The paths are fairly wide and not too steep. You would manage it.”
She messaged the other walkers and they were all enthusiastically welcoming.
‘I will not make them hold back and wait for me. I will definitely keep up,’ I vowed to myself while attaching my leg brace. The brace, whilst being invaluable as far as preventing me from over extending, would definitely be a drawback if I were mountain climbing. ‘Luckily Mount Everest was not quite on the cards today, I thought!

We arrived at Arendsrus to see an odd kerfuffle happening in Jan’s car. The door flew open and Jan fell out, clutching her eyes and coughing. Finn, her Jack Russell, had inadvertently put his foot on Jan’s pepper spray as she was parking. It had gone straight into Jan’s face.
“I was so stupid to put it there. That is Finn’s place. What was I thinking?” Jan laughed with tears pouring down her cheeks.

There was a certain joyousness amongst us as we set off. Six girlfriends who hadn’t seen one another for quite a while because of the lockdown caused the air to vibrate with laughter and fun. Six dogs scampered around our feet. I was ultra-conscious that I must not hold anyone up. So I set off at speed, walking quite a way in front. The mountains stretched gloriously upwards and all around were the differing calls of birds. The green iridescent crimson chested Sunbird made a lasting impression. It was quite a climb and I totally loved it. There was a myriad of flowers, fynbos and wonderfully shaped rocks that burst onto my consciousness like a breath of fresh jasmine.
“Gaynor, watch it, get to the left!”
I moved to the left in the nick of time.
Phewt! Phewt! Phewt!
Three mountain bikes sped past me in a whirl of dust.
“Shootenhauzen, why didn’t they ring their bells?” I gasped.
“They don’t have them,” Jan laughed, “they might get in the way if they have a crash.”
“But they just about crashed into me because they didn’t have them!”
“Ahhhh, but on these walks, all your senses need to be alert,” replied my mad keen cyclist friend.

We turned a corner and I came to an abrupt halt. In front of me was the most glorious little pond. I stopped and drank in the sight. What made it so special were the reflections of the mountains and trees all moving softly in the flowing depths. When we moved on, I didn’t immediately set off in hot pursuit of who knows what! I walked with my friends. I realised that I wasn’t holding anyone up. And so we continued  on our magnificent stroll – together!

After about 50 minutes, B suggested that maybe we two should turn around and head back. She knew that I often struggled with descents. I was amazed to discover that going back was fine. My brace and stick made all the difference. I’m actually developing quite an affection for this gorgeous blue brace that makes me walk so smoothly!

The two of us made our way back at a leisurely Gaynor-Pace! I was able to take in and absorb so much more now that I wasn’t thinking: Go faster! Don’t hold anyone up!
I looked down at the city of George stretching out below me with the sea in the distance  and said in an almost choked voice: “It is so beautiful, isn’t it?”
Not waiting for an answer, I continued: “I remember Mums suggesting I move to George. I was absolutely horrified. ‘Mums, George is for old people!’ I replied. And now, here I am. George is ‘my’ beautiful, little town.”
I walked a few more steps and then mused: “Maybe this means that I am getting old!”

We came across a dilapidated red Volkswagen. It was just like the VW that I had driven over thirty years ago. I laughed to myself thinking: Maybe this where she finally ended up! There was something strangely beautiful about this abandoned vehicle. I imagined the excitement she had caused when presented to her owner. And the driving of her owner with great joy, nipping nimbly between cars in a cheeky yet safe manner. Gradually, as the years passed, so this Volkswagen found her nimbleness difficult to keep up. Her chassis had been bumped a few times and her wheels were getting old. Her heart drooped when she saw a sleek BMW standing in the driveway with her mistress inside.
‘She’s got a new car. What will become of me? Will I be crushed at the scrap metal yard?’
She had seen friends of hers disappear in that manner.
Her mistress came across to her and patted her lovingly on her bonnet.
“You have been so good to me, my precious Belle.”
This was the name I imagined her being called.
“I’ve got a new car now. I’m not sending you to the scrap heap. I am moving you to a beautiful place in the country. You will sit outside this restaurant where I think you will be incredibly happy. Birds will alight and speak to you and there will be a constant stream of people who will pass you by, taking great delight in you. I will pop in and see you on my walks, so it isn’t goodbye.”
And today, I thought, here sits Belle, contentedly smiling at all the passing walkers.

B and I sat in the garden at Arendsrus soaking in the clear crisp air, eating muffins, drinking coffee and admiring Belle. A rewarding way to finish our climb of ‘not quite Everest!’

What this depressing period of confined lockdown has made me appreciate is that each day is a new experience. We can make of it what we will. What made this walk so special, wasn’t just the glorious perfect weather, the beautiful views and the nature surrounding me, it was that I was a member of the gang. I was with my friends and their dogs and would see myself in the ‘Sunday walk’ photos!

My heart leapt ahead of my body!

The post My Everest Climb! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

My eye specialist carried out another round of tests and finally he said to me:
“I don’t know why your eyesight is worsening. I would like a second opinion, and would like you to see my colleague who has more experience with issues effecting the back of eyes.”

After another set of different tests, I finally sat down before the man himself.
“Your optic nerves are thinning, effecting both your eyes. There is a lack of oxygen getting through. Your eye pressure is interestingly normal. Usually I would diagnose this as glaucoma but because of your fall, I can’t be 100% sure. I would like to do a MRI scan. This will hopefully give me a better idea of what is going on.”

I have been wearing cochlear implants, because of my deafness, for the past thirteen years. Would the cochlear implants ‘machinery’ inserted in my skull be alright in a MRI scanner, I wondered. After an enormous amount of to-ing and fro-ing between my audiologist, the eye specialist, and the X-ray department, it was finally decided that a MRI would not be possible. The magnets on either side of my skull would play havoc with the X-ray image. I had the next best thing, a CT scan.

This was done on a Thursday. I could only see my specialist the following Tuesday. Four days seemed a long time when my eyesight was endangered. Thoughts were tossing around my head like pebbles in a rough, windswept stream.
Many years ago, I lost my hearing in an 18 metre fall. I also lost 60% of my eyesight. With my cochlear implants, the world opened it’s door to me once more. That is not to say that I am no longer deaf. When I go to sleep, my CIs are removed and I am as deaf as a door nail.
Alas, they do not have anything equivalent to CIs that work on eyes. I gave a sigh.

People question whether it would be better to be born blind or deaf.
Helen Keller who was both deaf and blind says:
“I am just as deaf as I am blind. The problems of deafness are deeper and more complex, if not more important, than those of blindness. Deafness is a much worse misfortune. For it means the loss of the most vital stimulus – the sound of the voice that brings language, sets thoughts astir, and keeps us in the intellectual company of man”.
How well, I relate to this. I remember sitting at our family’s Christmas table, before my cochlear implants and feeling profoundly lost. I saw everyones lips moving but – silence! It felt as if there was this huge barrier between me and everyone else. I related so utterly to the following comment:

“Sound has an indescribable beauty, touching a person in their inner being in a way that sight can never. It reaches down into the soul of a person and connects them to loved ones, friends, and the environment. People believe that the things they see present immeasurable beauty, but I tell you that the sounds they hear are a million times more beautiful than anything they will ever see: laughter, music, the birds singing, a curtain flapping in the breeze, a lover speaking their name in the night – anything and everything.”

A friend of mine cannot accept that it is better to be blind than deaf.
She says: “If I was blind, I wouldn’t be able to do anything. I wouldn’t be able to ride my bike or sail, play a game of tennis or golf. It would be…unendurable!”
She’s wrong. It is not unendurable. I know. After my fall, I could no longer do those things that I loved to do, that were such a part of my life. You have to simply change your way of life, your way of ‘seeing things’!  Loss of sight cuts you off from THINGS, while loss of hearing cuts you off from PEOPLE.

I love people which was why being stone deaf for eighteen years was an unbelievable nightmare. It was like standing in dark tunnel and being unable to see the light at the end. You can never imagine the feeling of being given back the ability to hear again.
And now the 40% eyesight I treasured so much, had a chance of being taken away.

With my heart thumping in my mouth, I walked into the specialist’s office.
“Gaynor, your scans have shown that there is no cancer or tumour lying in wait. As I originally thought, I believe you have normal pressure glaucoma. This a disease that damages your optic nerves. I think that it is probably caused from your fall. But I can’t be one hundred percent sure. It’s impossible to know.”
So, I have a pretty serious problem with my eyes. The eyesight that I had recently lost would never be given back to me. I would now have to take drops morning and night for the rest of my life.
However, instead of walking out of the consultation feeling down and depressed over the loss of yet more eyesight, I wanted to do this wild ululating shout. I wasn’t due to lose my eyesight next month as I had feared!

Yes, I now had less than 40% eyesight but I could still see. I can still admire the majestic Outeniqua mountains rising regally before me. This morning, while taking Perdita for a walk, I spotted a beautiful grey Heron . His neck crumpled in and then snaked out in a strangely beautiful way. The Autumn reds, cinnamon and  gold trees make my heart sing. The open greeting smile of Mums always puts it’s arms around my heart and squeezes.

We all have a choice as to how we accept ourselves.
I think to myself how lucky I am that I can dance this jive in front of the doctor that said I would never walk again. When I put my cochlear implants on, I can hear once more. I have my spasticity under control most of the time.
And miracle of miracles, I am still able to see the incredible beauty of rainbows!

What people see is influenced by who they are. People in the same room will look at the same things and see everything totally differently…. Each of us has his or her own bent, and that colours our view of everything. What is around us doesn’t determine what we see. What is within us does.

John C. Maxwell

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