“Why don’t you come and live in George?” Mums asked.
“Live in George? Are you mad? George is for old people!” was my retort.
Mums took me for a long drive around George, pointing out items of interest. And the rest is history. I have now been living in George for eleven years.
And I am not all that old! (Laugh – I am ‘neither Gay nor Young!’)

I always dreamed of one day living in Cape Town. Having a little house in Harfield Village would be magical, I thought. Recently I went to Cape Town for The Cape Cycle Tour. It broke my heart seeing that water starved city. But the water aside, I was able to look at Cape Town in a realistic manner. It would not be a sensible place for me to live. I am now unable to drive because of my eyesight. To get to a shopping centre would be a mammoth task for me, walking kilometres. Imagine walking those kilometres clasping bags of shopping! To buy a cottage near to Cavendish Square would be completely out of my price range. Also, Cape Town is so incredibly busy. The traffic screams past you at this unbelievable rate. Or perhaps this is a sign that I am getting old, after all!

I sit on my veranda in George, sipping my morning coffee and drink in my surroundings. My eyes drift upwards to the Outeniqua Mountains. How I love those enormous, undulating and rolling folds of rock that peer majestically down on me. In 1987, when we had finished our performance in Othello, a couple of us took off for the weekend and headed for the Magaliesberg mountains. I sat on a rocky crag next to a waterfall that seemed to cascade downwards with joy and exultation. I am so glad that I had that experience. I know what it is like to clamber up a mountain and then on reaching the top, sag down with breathless joy. Clambering and climbing are now out of my radar. Today I am able to look out at ‘my’ awe inspiring mountains of George and simply glory in them.

I adore the George temperatures. It has a temperate climate with warm summers and mild to chilly winters. After living in Durban for fourteen years, experiencing Autumn in George is entrancing. In Durban, it is summer – permanently! I had forgotten the joy of seeing rows of Oak and Maple trees, blushing as they undress their leaves onto the ground. The summers are blissfully warm. On those hot nights, I lie in bed beautifully cooled by a fan whirring gently beside me.
“Doesn’t your fan make a lot of noise?” Mums inquired.
“It probably does, but I don’t hear it,” I laughed pointing to my Cochlear Implants. “I take these off when I sleep.”
Admit, there are certain advantages to being deaf!

The winters are cold.
“Cold, pah!” scoffed my English friend. “Your winters are almost like our summers.”
“One winter the temperature went down to 8 degrees,” I retorted
“Exactly, that’s what I’m saying. Almost like our summers!”
George lies between the sea and the mountains and this somehow promotes rain. Yesterday friends of mine walked past the dam. Apparently it is actually overflowing! This week, the George Herald tells us that the Municipality are planning on significantly raising the dam wall.

I love public speaking and I give Motivational Talks to companies all over South Africa. I am often catching planes to and from different destinations. The airport is a mere ten minute drive away from my apartment. When I think of what a rigmarole it is catching a plane from Johannesburg, Cape Town and Durban, I want to give a little jig in sheer delight at my lucky situation! I also want to cheer at the fact that George Airport has come out top as Africa’s best airport catering for under two million passengers per year. That is quite something!

George is a golfers paradise! There are actually 5 championship courses in George itself. I recently accompanied two friends as they played a game at George Golf Course. I had an utterly entrancing time. I wasn’t blown away by the golf I witnessed. I have no memory of their game whatsoever. I was mind boggled by the beauty surrounding me. The incredible vistas. The gorgeous brown buck wandering across the fairways chased by playful monkeys of all shapes and sizes! Trees that stretched up and out, clusters of ferns at their base, the smooth, rolling greens, the gnarled bench placed for golfers to rest their weary limbs. I wasn’t a golfer yet I climbed onto the bench, my arms around my knees, my chin resting there and surveyed the beauty around me and dreamed.
“C’mon, Gaynor, we’re moving to the next hole…”

In George we have our own Arts Theatre. It has just been gloriously refurbished. I recently watched Pieter Dirk Uys perform, and the following week enjoyed the enchanting Snow Goose. The shows were marvellous, but our theatre is also brilliant. The beautifully painted walls, the seats, the stage – it all looks magnificent. ‘Maybe you should have got involved in theatre after your accident!’ whispered a voice in my mind. And then I silently laughed at myself. Sitting in a beautiful theatre does that to me. It causes ‘what ifs’ to tumble around my brain. No, Gaynor, you are finished in theatre for the time being! You are now a writer! And this ‘writer’ sat in her beautiful theatre and was utterly entranced!

B, Jans, Ingrid, our ‘children’ and I do the Park Run every Saturday. It starts in the Botanical Gardens and then meanders through the forest which I love. Jans and Ingrid disappear to do the full five kilometre run. B, Perdita and I begin with everybody but B knows short cuts! I do a limping whizz along these wonderful shortened routes. It is amusing because I see the faces of the other people who walk the Park Run with me as we approach the finish. One man said: “Wow, I thought that I’d be much faster than you. And here we are, finishing together!”
I didn’t enlighten him!

The thing that I love about George is that people are so friendly. I walk everywhere accompanied by my marvellous stick covered in ladybirds. Not real ladybirds. Pictures of ladybirds crawling all over the stick. My stick, Perdita and I are now well known figures in George and constantly get well meaning hoots of recognition from cars passing by. I am able to walk to Woolworths, the Post Office, the vets, CNA. Going to Beans About Coffee is quite a walk but I walk with purpose, knowing that a delicious cup of cappuccino and a plate of scrumptious carrot cake are awaiting me! George people smile openly. Although there was one man who for four months would not return the smile I threw at him. I continued to smile and say: “Hi there!” every time we passed. When he finally caught my smile and threw it back with a: “Good morning!” I wanted to hug him. I didn’t though. I walked on, secretly doing a high five with God!

One night, about three weeks ago, Perdita, my wire haired dachshund, slipped through the outside fence and disappeared. Again!!! I went to the fence and looked up and down the road, no Perdita! I was in my pyjamas but desperate to find her, I left my flat and walked to the back of Pick ‘n Pay. They keep their rubbish bins there and I was sure they had attracted Perdita. I looked at the bins in the dark but they seemed deserted. I ‘ran’ home and phoned my friend B. She was at a dinner party, miles away so couldn’t come and help. I scanned the road outside but no Perdita. The next moment, I saw the light of a torch, and there was Dewald, the supervisor of our flats.
“B told me that Perdita is missing, I came to help look for her.” Then I saw my friend Nix, who lives down the road:
“I heard Perdita was missing. B told me.”
Then Christine and Ron, Mums’ neighbours, arrived.
“We’ve come to help find Perdita,” they chorused.
Dewald let out a shout: “There she is, coming around the corner.”
Dratted Perdita had been scrounging at Pick ‘n Pay and had hidden when she’d seen me.
These people I knew, had all come out of their lovely warm homes to help me find my dog! This is the sort of thing that people in George do. I am so fortunate to live in such a close knit community!

I always feel safe in George. And yes, you’re right, I should not go walking to Pick ‘n Pay at ten o’clock at night. That is asking for trouble. It was just that my ‘child’ had disappeared and I panicked. Unlike other cities I’ve been in, George seems secure and protected. The other day, I came across some children playing cricket in the street. I was reminded of my childhood where we did exactly the same thing. Seeing children behaving in such a normal, happy way made me smile. These children were not shut up in a gated and guarded community. I pray that George remains as it is.

I had no idea that George would contain so much joy for me. All bought about by that drive with Mums in the car! The mountains, the airport, the golf course, the Botanical Gardens and the people. And just think: If you come and live in George or just visit, you can take lovely refreshing showers, using that most vital ingredient of all – water!

Cities have the capability of providing something for everybody, only because, and only when, they are created by everybody.”
Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life of Great American Cities

The post My Love Affair! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

At long last the buses have arrived in George!
Due to a nasty fall, when her femur was fractured, my Mum is still unable to drive. My friend, B, has gone back to England and so I am now without a lift. But…joy of joys, the bus service has just begun in George.
I went into the bus depot to find out how I could catch a bus to Virgin Gym. I was told I could catch the bus outside the post office and it would literally drop me right there. There were quite a few of us waiting for the bus and friendly smiles and good mornings flowed. We waited for five minutes and then the Blanco bus came into sight. It was packed! In fact, I have never been on such a crowded bus. I paid for my ticket and grabbed hold of one of those curled straps hanging from the roof. There was a shout behind me. I turned and the bus conductor was saying something to a woman sitting on the front seat. She got up and the bus conductor gestured for me to take her place. I was aghast. “No, I can’t take your seat!” But she, several others AND the bus conductor were most vociferous in their demands that I was to sit there. I sat down to friendly faces. One woman asked:”Are you going to the hospital?”
“No”, I replied laughing, “I’m going to gym.” They looked doubtfully at this strange, limping girl going to gym.
It was great because the bus dropped me just outside the Spar. Jauntily I walked to Virgin Gym. I was going to like this Go George bus.
I thought back to my catching of the Mynah Bus in Durban. For fourteen years I had lived in Durban and there was a bus stop directly outside my gate. One day I decided to visit my friend, Barbs. I looked at the directions. I had to get off at Springfield road and then I could walk the rest of the way. It was all quite simple and easy. Except for one thing. I am now hopeless at remembering names. I needed to tell the bus driver where I wanted to be dropped off. How was I going to remember the name ‘Springfield’. Okay, break the name up into two words: spring and field. How to remember spring? Think of rabbits hopping. That will give you: spring. Field: think of a lush meadow. So – rabbits hopping and a lush meadow gives you: spring and field. Springfield!
To be perfectly honest, I was quite impressed with my little reminder. ‘Ha, there’s no stopping you, Girl!’ I thought as I locked my flat and headed for the bus stop. When the bus arrived, I got my money out as I climbed on. The bus driver looked utterly bored. I gave him a dazzling smile and said: “Please may I have one ticket to…to…May I have one ticket to…” The name was gone. It had vanished. But I was prepared for such a situation. I had to think of rabbits. Yes, that was right. And a green meadow. Were the rabbits meant to be in the green meadow? Hmmmm, yes, probably. I mean, rabbits usually are, aren’t they. Well, what word did that give me? Rabbits in a green meadow gave me…? Oh, Shytenhauzen!
I looked at the impatient bus driver and I said: “Do you know that I have forgotten where I want you to drop me.”
A blank look.
“I did think of a way to remind myself. I thought of two images. The first was an image of rabbits hopping. The second image was of a luscious green meadow. Any…ah, well…any suggestions?”
The bus driver looked at me as if I had gone stark raving mad. Then he leaned forward and said in a low voice: “Ma’am….”
“You can help me, I knew it! What is it you are going to suggest, Sir?”
He leaned even closer and I leaned towards him, as if he had a great secret to impart.
“R2.50”, he said in a lowered tone.
“What was that?” I asked not believing my ears.
“R2.50!” he bellowed. Hurriedly I paid him his bus fare and scuttled to my place. I still had no idea what that blasted road was called.
Three kilometres on I looked out the window and gave a little squeal. ” There it is! The signpost saying Springfield road!”
I rang the bell and as I was getting off the bus, I said to the bus driver: “You see, rabbits hopping and a green meadow. Springfield!”
The bus driver looked at me as if I had not one nut but several very loose and rolling around. The doors clanged shut and he drove off shaking his head and muttering.
I thank the Lord that I don’t have to tell the bus driver where I’m going in George. Can you imagine what images I would come up with for: Virgin Gym!!!

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

I looked at the picture on the mug in front of me as I waited for my hot chocolate to cool. I smiled. A buxom woman stared back. She looked as if she was posing or modelling. What tickled me was that this was not the tall, wafer thin figure that so many women aspire to nowadays. This woman was big and curvaceous. Yet she looked perfectly content within herself. She seemed to be saying: “It’s alright to be big. It’s beautiful to be large!”.
I like that! The equally large figure on the plate under the mug possessed considerable élan! I laughed softly to myself. Like me, this woman carried a jumble of bags. What’s really likeable about these figures is that they don’t conform to modern day “figure” expectations. They are Rubenesque and I like that!
Who are these caricatures created by? I didn’t need to look at the bottom of the mug to know these were Sharon Dold designs. Sharon, like me, lives in George. We had never met, but I planned to remedy that situation.
I invited her for coffee at Travelbugs, one of my favourite restaurants in George. While I awaited Sharon’s arrival, I tried to picture what she looked like. Did she look like one of her creations? Was she a large woman with a very red mouth dressed in a funky kind of manner? How old is she? I wondered. I remembered another one of Sharon’s creations: An older woman wearing a purple dressing gown and matching purple eye shadow. Her hair is in bright blue curlers that match the hilarious blue glasses through which her long lashed eyes are peering.
“Gaynor?” A soft voice enquired.
I looked into the smiling, fun filled face of a woman about my age. I smiled as I shook her hand. “Hi there, Sharon! I have been admiring your work and I didn’t know what to expect today. I was half anticipating the appearance of one of your Fat Ladies. But I see that you are nothing like them. I don’t know whether to be sorry or relieved.”
She laughed and this blonde haired, brown eyed woman sat down opposite me. We began chatting and Sharon’s story started to unfold…..
When she finished school, despite being passionate about art, she did a “very dependable” secretarial course. If you have the creative impulse within you, inevitably it finds it’s outlet. Sharon’s creativity was alive and well and burning to be released. For a friend’s birthday present, she took a plate and painted a funky bird on it that literally zinged in it’s bright, alive colours. Her friend raved about her creation! Soon Sharon was painting plate after plate with these freaky, funny birds. They were squawking, laughing, winking and behaving in an un-birdlike, thoroughly lovable manner. Her creativity had found it’s niche!
Her Fat Lady design for which her name is now synonymous leapt onto paper more than fifteen years ago and it is still the design for which she is widely known. Sharon laughed as she explained how one day a Fat Lady curved up at her from beneath her pencil. She smiled  greeting  her new creation and a few more Fat Ladies appeared in answer to that smile. I chuckled when she showed me a picture of two women in their bathing costumes on a beach. It is obviously not pleasant because they have their arms wrapped around their bodies for warmth. Their voluptuous breasts ooze above their arms! These Fat Ladies are not smiling though. Their eyes are beautifully made up but their red lipped mouths are pouting. I identify with that picture. I am not a great lover of the beach!
Sharon initially began marketing her designs from her home. She reproduced them very basically on plates and stationery. Now there is a thriving factory in the heart of George that utilises the very latest graphic design technology to produce an exciting range of homeware and gifting merchandise – stationery, crockery, trays, fridge magnets, spoon holders. Sharon Dold’s Designs are now found in over three hundred retail outlets throughout South Africa. One of her greatest pleasures as her business grows is that she is able to employ more and more local people.
I asked Sharon about the future, where she saw herself in five years?
“I would like to have significantly increased my international presence” she replied.
“Although it is wonderful that my designs have widespread recognition in South Africa, it would be incredible if they attained world-wide fame!”
I smile at the thought of beautifully made cards with Fat Ladies ‘strutting their stuff’ being sold at John Lewis in England (akin to Woolies in SA).
With the ailing, weak Rand there is definitely no better time to try!

To visit Sharon Dold’s Design web site click here!

The post A big fat success! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

           

“For a moment at least, be a smile on someone else’s face.”
― Dejan Stojanovic, The Sun Watches the Sun

Our gardener, George, stood back, looking at the tree he had just finished pruning. He shook his shoulders and raised his face up to the sky. He let the sun gloss down at him for a few moments. He must have heard me because suddenly he turned to me. He didn’t look surprised to see me. And then the most incredible thing happened.
He smiled.
A small miracle broke out in my garden. The wrinkles swam into their newly appointed place. The eyes were filled with age old wisdom which danced towards me. “Good morning, Gaynor-Ma’am!”
“Hi there, George!” I responded, my smile meeting his and clashing beautifully on the lawn outside.
“The” day…it is new!” this wonderful guru said, his eyes turned to the sky.
What a beautiful way for me to start my morning. I received a gift from that man that was invaluable. The smile that was wide, generous and open. The reminder that it was a new morning. It was a morning that was fresh, bracing and as yet “untrammeled.”
I could make of it what I wanted. I stopped and shut my eyes. I breathed in the magnificent mountains rising in the distance. I breathed in the love that surrounds me constantly. I breathed in the Breath of God’s Spirit.
All caused by George’s smile.
Yes, it was a “new” morning.
Yes, it was a new Me!

The post The Gardener’s Smile! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

I decided I wanted to move from Durban to Cape Town. I wanted to be near family and my sister, lived there. When I told my parents of this, Mum’s response was: “Gaynor, there’s no way you’d be able to afford a place in Cape Town. The prices are astronomical. Why don’t you rather move down to George?”

“George! But….George is for…well, old people.”

“What utter tripe! It is just that you don’t know any young people in George.”

The next day I looked around George. It’s actually a beautiful little town with the sea, forests and those incredibly majestic mountains. Mum phoned a friend, Gill, who was an estate agent and the next day she arrived complete with plans for a new block of flats going up called Mallory Place.  It was going to be built half a kilometre from my parents house and…..yes, you’ve guessed it! I bought a ground floor flat. I was shocked at the haste with which the whole deal came about and I thought that I would wake a few days later and would be filled with regret. It didn’t  happened! So I went back to Durban, sold my flat and duly headed for George. My apartment is situated directly behind a supermarket, a chemist and a video shop. What could be better for this DVD junkie?

I asked Gill: “Do you think that I will be allowed a dog?”

Instantly she was on her phone inquiring for me. Apparently they were not clear on all the rules as yet.  The flats had not even been built! Well, I thought, somewhat mutinously, I am going to have a dog. I want a dog! Oohhh, please God, let me have a dog!

Mallory Place was beautiful when it was finished and I duly moved in. But horror of all horror, no dogs or cats were allowed. Yes, I was allowed my cockatiel but that was it. I duly wrote a letter to the board asking them: Please may I have a dog. I am deaf and I need the protection! And you are not going to believe it but they said YES! I was overjoyed.

Mum has a close friend, Maureen, who works at the SPCA. She knew the kind of dog I was looking for and contacted me, highly delighted. “We have just the dog for you, a wire haired Dachshund. She came to us pregnant and had two puppies. She has a week longer with the puppies and then she is free to go. Come and meet her!”

I was nervous travelling to the SPCA. What happened if I took an instant dislike to this dog that Maureen had picked out for me? Well, I decided, I would be totally honest and say exactly what I felt. Maureen greeted us and said: “I’ll go and fetch her. And Gaynor, if you don’t take her, I will.” Maureen owned six dogs, all SPCA specials! I had no doubt that she meant it. I waited. The next moment Maureen appeared with a dog on a lead.

She was a small dog with a brindled coat of sandy, cream, rust and black hues, kind of a Yorkie colouring. Her face is dominated by these bushy eyebrows. She has brown eyes framed with the longest eyelashes that gazed shyly up at me.

I fell in love!

I had just finished romping through a Jilly Cooper novel in which the heroine was called Perdita. I read that it meant – little lost one. A perfect name for my new female friend, I thought. I am ashamed to say that I have never read A Winters Tale so that Perdita is totally foreign to me. My Perdita is pronounced Per-deeta.

Last year a new resident moved in to Mallory Place, and she bought her little Maltese dog with her. Our supervisor spoke to her and said that before she moved in he had said quite clearly that no pets were allowed.

“Yes, but I saw that woman downstairs with her dog and I thought…”

Our supervisor cut her off. “You saw wrong, Madam, that is not her dog, that is her child. I am sorry but no dogs allowed!”

Laugh…and that is how my “child”, Perdita, came to live with me at  88 Mallory Place!

Disclaimer: To protect privacy, names and places in this story have been changed.

The post My love child……………..! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.