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……………

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

She was an elderly black Labrador called Queenie.
“Queenie! That’s a beautiful name,” I said crouched down in front of her, rubbing her ears. “Do you feel like coming for a walk with me, Angel-Face?”
At the word ‘walk’, she gave an exciting whine and her whole body seemed to curve into a gigantic series of mad wags.
“You and Queenie will go well together. She’s a lovely docile dog,” said the lady handing me the lead.
That immediately put my hackles up. Queenie’s too, I’m sure.
Docile! Why did I require a ‘docile’ dog? Yes, I had a limp but I could limp faster than some people could run. Well, maybe not that fast but I was definitely not a docile individual. I would lay down my life that Queenie was no docile dog!
“C’mon, Queenie, we’ll show her,” I whispered to my new non-docile friend.

My friend, B, had excitedly shown me this advertisement in the paper: “Be a rainbow of colour and join Oudtshoorn Dogs in Need (Odin) at Tantivvey in Blanco for their Odin Mutt Run and 5km Family Colour Run.
Participants are asked to wear a white t-shirt and bring a lead to enjoy a 5km run/walk with a shelter dog.”
Odin is a pro-life organisation that focuses on outreach programmes for animals in need. Their kennels are at the Municipal Pound in Oudtshoorn and Blanco, George. They educate, medicate, rescue and re-home dogs.

I told Perdita, my own little rescue dog, that I was leaving her at home.
“I am taking another dog who still needs to be rescued, out for a walk today. You can’t come with me. I will see you later.”

B and I had told our friends about this walk so on that Saturday we all pitched up. I was given the gorgeous Queenie, B had a lovely young playful dog, Snowy, that leaped up at her in his joie de vivre. Everyone was given a dog, with their individual character traits. In the same way, every dog was given a person with their individual character traits! The dogs set off joyfully, almost seeming to drag the people at the end of the leash with them. Everywhere I looked, there were dogs streaming before and behind me. It was this wonderfully endless chain of dogs and people. 

I was singing very softly to myself: ‘How much is that doggie in the window, the one with the waggly tail, how much is that doggie…’
I was suddenly sprayed with this dust like purple paint. Glory be, I had totally forgotten about the paint.
“Careful of my Cochlear Implants!” I shouted. I suddenly remembered that I was wearing a coloured hat that was doing precisely that. It was protecting my Cochlear Implants. Queenie looked back at me reassuringly. Like me, she was sprayed purple.
“It’s okay,” she seemed to say. “It’s actually quite a fun colour. Just enjoy!”
The pink paint sprayer didn’t surprise me when the dust cloud landed on my shirt. By then I was expecting it. The green and yellow followed suit. Queenie was quicker than me and dodged the paint. The purple dog merrily led the pink, purple, green and yellow woman on her way.

The laughing sprayed procession began it’s walk around the dam. That was when I heard a loud shout behind me. I turned to see that my friend, Jan’s Labrador cross Bulbul had decided that as well as being a great day for a walk, it was also terrific day to have a swim. He proceeded to pull Jan into the dam with him. Amidst much laughter, protests and imploring to Brutus to come out, a wet bedraggled friend swopped dogs with Tim. He was being led by a cheeky faced Jack Russell who went quite willingly to Jan. He gave her a few comforting licks and continued on his way leading a laughing Jan around the dam. 

At the end of our five kilometre walk, we approached the kennels once more. I felt Queenie’s steps begin to falter and slow. She did not want her walk to end. I did not want it to end. I imagined what it must be like for her. It must feel like going back to prison. Being caged up, sleeping on a concrete floor and worst of all, being deprived of love. My steps slowed but there was no getting away from it. Queenie and I arrived back at the kennels. I knelt down and looked into her beautiful deep eyes.
“Thank you for taking me on a wonderful walk, Queenie. I wish that you could come home with me but…”
“Can I take her now?”
This young boy looked at me eagerly.
“You’re taking her for a walk?” He nodded. “Terrific,” I exulted. “Her name is…”
“Queenie,” he finished for me. “And she’s getting impatient.”
I watched the two of them run off. Go, ‘docile Queenie’, run. Run like the wind!

How I wish that amazing institutions like Odin and the SPCA didn’t exist because every animal that needed a home had one. That they all had a special person that loved and cherished them. Suddenly I thought of Perdita, the little dog that shared my home with me. She had been by herself for hours. I must get back to her and take her for a walk. I laugh at her. Despite now being sixteen years old, she welcomes me with these big yelps and then charges from room to room with me chasing her.

Dogs love you unconditionally. You have no idea of the love that streams out of them to you. If you are thinking of getting a dog, please don’t go off to a pet shop or a breeder. There are so many dogs crying out for love at organisations like the SPCA and Odin. Perdita came to me from the SPCA as a two year old who had just had two puppies. I waited until her puppies were weaned and then joy entered my life!

I wish that those dogs on the walk that day, could be given the same chance to show their love.
I know that Queenie would!

Unconditionally!

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