The wedding

This is one of three posts, covering our trip in Sydney to attend our niece’s wedding.

The eldest of my three sisters, Mona Lisa, and her husband, Hyperactive, have three gorgeous daughters, Betty, Macrolense and Didactic. They also have a son, Pedro, who is their youngest child. Didactic, the youngest of the three daughters, met the man of her life, Mr Chips, and the wedding was planned.

To be quite honest, I was reluctant to go to the wedding because it involved travelling from Perth to Sydney, and we had already gone to Sydney this year for our cruise. I didn’t feel that we could justify the expense, and I really don’t enjoy the long flight. Fortunately, Mother Superior would not have a bar of it, and promised Didactic that we would be there. We had missed Macrolense’s wedding, and she certainly did not want to miss this one. Of course she is correct. Holidays can be organised any time, but family celebrations, like weddings, are unique. If you miss one, there is no second chance.

And so it was last Friday that we eased ourselves into the unbelievably small and uncomfortable seat of a Virgin Blue aircraft bound for Sydney. I will talk about the trip in a separate blog.

On the day of the wedding, Mother Superior and I went to Muti Man’s and Gifted One’s hotel to share a taxi to the church. Mother Superior is quite a game old bird, because we took the monorail. I couldn’t help feeling a strong love for her as she stood in the crowded monorail dressed in her wedding finery.

When we arrived at the church there were already two limousines parked outside. For a moment I thought I had got my times wrong, but when I looked at the kitchy limos, I knew it could not be our wedding. Hyperactive and Mona Lisa have always displayed impeccable taste in everything they do, and this wedding was no exception.

There was a lot of excitement as we were reunited with my family outside the church. They were all there, including Mculubaas, my father and Mother Provincial, my darling mother. I will also write a separate blog about my wonderful family.

We had to wait a while for the bride to arrive at the church because they were held up in the notorious Sydney traffic. I also believe that Didactic had an urgent call of nature when she arrived at the church. At least they had an excuse. We were very late for Muppet’s wedding, and we live close to our church.

The wedding service was magnificent. Because the happy couple are both teachers, they had a boys’ choir that sang the old traditional songs that I really enjoy. It was the best music I had ever heard at a wedding service. I suppose it is a matter of taste, but I absolutely love traditional sacred music and the pipe organ. So many weddings these days have contemporary modern music, which many people enjoy. Give me a pipe organ and a well trained choir any day. I also have my doubts about outside weddings. It certainly looks strange to see a group of people all dressed in their finery on a wind-swept beach, with a celebrant trying to make him or herself heard.

One of the songs at the wedding was Panis Angelicus, which I sang at Muppet and Biggles’s wedding. There was no comparison. I looked at Mother Superior and whispered “That’s not fair”.

After the service, we had the obligatory group photo and then headed off to the reception. We were fortunate to get a ride from my cousin, Carruthers. His lovely wife, Muriel, sat in the kiddies’ seat at the back of their Kluger to make room for us.

The reception was held at an up-market golf club, and it went flawlessly. The food was superb and the music was excellent. I really do think a band makes a huge difference. I do not like to have a discotheque, where some guy tries to justify being there by making stupid remarks and performing silly antics. The speeches were all of an extremely high standard. They were witty without being smutty – and they were interesting. I really hate going to a wedding where the best man tries his best to scrape up all the muck he can about the groom. Why anyone would be interested in knowing that a groom has a penchant for getting really drunk and running around naked is completely beyond me.

I was also impressed with the timing. A few weddings I have been to recently seemed to have speeches that went on and on, and there is very little time for dancing. I have a very short attention span, and can honestly say I was not bored for a second during this wedding.

The evening ended with a happy gathering of people outside waiting for taxis.

The following day, we had a great family gathering at Mona Lisa and Hyperactive’s house. This will be described in my next blog.

I know that we are not having a competition to see who can host the best wedding in the family. If we were, this one would win hands down. I am only glad that our weddings are over, so I don’t have to compete.

Well done Didactic, Mr Chips, Mona Lisa, Hyperactive and Mr Chips’ parents, Snow Queen and Fred Block.

The new arrival

I appologise for being a little late with this post. I have been a bit lazy of late.

Last Monday, Spiderman and Petal produced a new granddaughter for us. She is such a tiny, precious little bundle that I will call her Dewdrop. They now have two daughters, Blossom and Dewdrop.

Well, in the grandfather stakes, the score is me 2, my siblings 0. It does make me feel a bit smug, even though it was nothing of my doing.

On the evening after the birth, Mother Superior and I, along with Muppet and Biggles, went to the hospital to see our new granddaughter and niece. Blossom was not around, so it gave us a chance to admire Dewdrop. As I held this day old baby in my arms, I felt an immediate bond with this tiny person. I am sure I will love her as much as I do Blossom, her sister.

Anyway, Mother Superior and I volunteered to look after Blossom overnight and the following day. We are both really fond of her, so we did not consider it to be an onerous task.

Blossom is a lovely child. She has a vibrant personality and a sharp sense of humour. She relates well to everyone and is obviously very intelligent. This is not surprising, because she has a large extended family that includes two sets of doting grandparents. She spends a lot of time with us, and we all stimulate her in our own way.

Like her father, Blossom is very inquisitive, and must always be closely watched so that she does not come to grief.

Anyway, back to our story. We were rather looking forward to a lie-in the follwing morning, but Blossom had other plans. She woke up at 5:30, and then demanded to know why Doglet, our dog, was still sleeping.  This was the pattern for the rest of the day. Mother Superior went to work that afternoon, leaving me with Blossom. When I dropped her off that afternoon, I was exhausted.

Interestingly enough, all of us were concerned how Blossom would react to the new sibling, so we bought presents for her – and she did really well. When I dropped Blossom off at the hospital that night, friends were visiting. It was quite strange to see everyone fussing around Blossom, and generally ignoring Dewdrop, who should have been the centre of attraction.

Being a second child myself, I felt a remarkable affinity to Dewdrop. I think we will get on well.

Mother Superior and food

As I have mentioned before, I am privileged to be married to a wonderful woman, who is gorgeous inside and out. We are both best buddies, and have been through a lot together. I would say, on the whole, that our marriage has been spectacularly successful. There is just one area where we are not compatible. I love eating, while Mother Superior is never hungry.

I know, I should be very grateful. Mother Superior’s disinterest in food has left her beautifully slim. Apart from her grey hair, which she disguises very well, she is much younger looking than her 52 years. It would, however, be nice to enjoy a meal with her.

When we went on our cruise earlier this year, I was overcome by the temptations at the breakfast buffet every morning, filling my plate with the delights it offered. Mother Superior had an apple and a small tub of yoghurt, and looked at my brimming plate with much displeasure and disappointment. My solution was to rather eat in the dining room where a reasonable size meal was brought to me. Mother Superior had the opposite problem. The dining room portions were too big for her, and she hates wastage – as do I. She won out, so I had to slide my plate down the buffet every morning and forgo the pleasure of having my food served to me.

The Mother Superior and I pride ourselves on being a good team, and we always do things together. Unfortunately, when I get hunger pangs, my pleas to break for lunch are largely ignored. When she does agree to stop for lunch, I head for the kitchen and she decides to quickly do something else, like hang out the washing. I invariably end up eating on my own, and she will grab a banana to eat quickly.

The worst for me is when we go shopping together. When we walk past eateries where ‘normal’ people are having lunch, she does not appear to notice my salivations. When I suggest that we should have lunch, she remarks that I am always thinking of my stomache. She just can’t get it into her head that people have to eat to sustain life.

Oh, how I would love to stop and have a Big Mac with her, but I am denied the pleasure. If she did relent, she would order a small salad, and watch me eat my hamburger with undisguised disgust.

I must admit that she is a good cook, and I love eating whatt she prepares. I just wish she wouldn’t make me feel so guilty about it.

After reading this post, Mother Superior told me that she was not pleased because it made her out to be an anorexic control freak. In fact, she keeps herself trim and healthy for me. The only reason that that she monitors my food intake is because she cares about me. I accept that completely.

Reality check

I have recently had two severe blows to my ego, which have made me have a reality check.

As I have mentioned in previous blogs, I work for a very good company that appears to really care about its staff. I also have an intelligent manager, who makes the correct decisions. The chances of me looking for other employment are very small.

I am lucky to work a four day week at a reasonable salary. Recently, someone advertised on the Austechwriters forum that they were looking for a Technical Writer to do a one-off user manual for a POS application. I had just bought a new car, so I thought it might be a good way of getting some extra funds without having Mother Superior work extra shifts. I emailed the person, explaining that I did have a day a week available to write the manual. He responded by asking for examples of my work. “Fair enough”, I thought, and duly sent him examples. He responded with – nothing. All I have received is silence. There was no email saying that he had found someone else – just nothing. I can only assume that he was not impressed with my work, and does not want to tell me that. I am a bit confused, because my present employer appears to be happy with what I do. Perhaps they just don’t know any better.

I console myself thinking that I would not want to work for someone who is so rude that he cannot respond to me – but there is still the worry that I have fallen short of expectations, and i am not really that good in my job. What if my present employer comes to the same realisation?

The second incident came when I got a call out of the blue from a recruiting agency. A big software company is desperately looking for technical writers, and would i consider coming over? As I have said, I dont have any plans to change jobs, but I was prepared to find out more about it. I accepted an invitation to discuss it over a cup of coffee. I met these two earnest young men in black suits, who took notes on everything I said. For a momemt, I felt like a wise sage dispensing advice to these men. If I cleared my throat, they both made a note about it. When we parted, they said that they were sure the employer would be keen on opening discussions with me. I left thinking that I would soon have a difficult decision to make. Frankly, I felt quite smug about it. Here I was, employed by a good company, and there was another good company apparently desperate to have my services. I had visions of them fighting over me.

Well, I have come down to earth with a huge bump. A few weeks later, I have heard absolutely nothing. I notice, however, that the recruiting agency is still vigorously advertising the position. I can accept it if there were a number of good applicants, and the employer had to make a choice but, by the looks of things, the employer would prefer to continue looking than to have my services. This is a tremendous blow to my self-esteem, and it has left me wondering what is wrong with me. The two earnest young men from the recruiting agency seemed to be impressed, but the employer has rejected me without even checking on me. Surely, my history of employment should mean something. My current employer appears to be satisfied with my services, so why wouldn’t they? My suspicion is that it has to do with my age. I am almost 56, and my current manager is in his late 30s. I have mentioned before that he is very intelligent, so the age gap is not a problem to him. Unfortunately, not all managers are that clever, and they would see employing a person who is much older and more experienced than them as a potential threat. They would probably envision me criticising their every move.

I should be pleased at the outcome. After all, I am happy with my current employer, and I have been saved from having to make a very difficult decision. Also, it appears that the new employer is very stupid, and there is nothing worse than working for an idiot. Unfortunately, there is still the niggling thought that I have been rejected. If I happen to lose my current job, what would be the chances of being employed again? I had better just make sure that I don’t lose it.

My mid-life crisis

The other day a Corvette pulled up in the car-park outside the office where I work, and a man in his late fifties got out. One of my colleagues remarked that it must be a mid-life crisis car. I suppose that many true words are spoken in jest, and that person in the Corvette is going through the same emotional turmoils that I am.

I am soon to turn 56, and I have suddenly realised that things that I have dreamt about achieving are not going to happen. All my life I have had visions of being a professional singer and actor. I now see that I am not going to achieve those goals, and it depresses me.  I am now stuck in a job that I do not enjoy, with no apparent way out. Simply put, I have feel that I am ready to be put out to pasture. Unfortunately, I cannot afford to retire, so I will just have to stay where I am. I am not even able to change to another job, because it is almost impossible to find someone who is prepared to employ someone my age. It appears that I will have to remain in this rut until I am no longer able to work.

Mother Superior gets very cross with me when I get depressed. She can’t understand why I feel that I have not achieved anything. We have a very happy relationship, and have successfully raised three lovely children who, in turn have married good spouses. I have always had reasonably good jobs, and have done things that many other people have not, like travel overseas giving courses on new technology. I even managed to bring my family from South Africa to Australia to start a new life, and we have all settled well.

I suppose when she puts it that way, it is hard to argue – but why do I still feel unfulfilled? Is it possibly that all of us want to be someone special, be it in entertainment, politics or academic achievement. When we get to our fifties we realise that it is not going to happen, and there is no point in even dreaming about it. I realise now that I can forget about being the entertainer that I wanted to be, and just accept that I will be an ordinary person.

Of course, I should be grateful for what I have got. I am happily married, and we live in beautiful house at the coast. I also have a reasonably well paid job with a great company.

I also feel that time is running out.

Oh yes. I did buy a big car. I did help – but not a lot.

Amateur theatre, the orphan

The speaker in the dressing room suddenly comes to life. “Starters on stage” booms the stage-manager’s voice. A number of us stand up. There are a few last checks in the mirror before we head out into the passage-way and down the stairs to the stage. At  the foot of the stairs, the musical director is waiting to give us some last minute advice and assurances. She is very smartly dressed tonight for her important role as conductor.

I walk through the wings onto the stage. I still can’t get over how huge it is. I look up and see all the sets hanging far above me. At the moment the place is busy, with stage-hands moving scenery and making last minute changes. There is a lot of hammering and sawing going on. I know that we can make as much noise as we like because between us and the auditorium there is the main curtain and a steel fire-curtain.

We all take our places, and the stage-hands withdraw. “Quiet please. The fire curtain is going up” yells the stage manager. The stage goes silent, as we hear the hum of the electric motor lifting the massive steel fire curtain in front of the main curtain. As it goes up, we can hear the babble from the audience, and we wonder how many of them are out there, and how responsive they will be. There are also the odd sounds from the orchestra as they tune up their instruments. I shiver of excitement goes through me. I don’t have a very big part, but I am enjoying this immensely.

The audience beging to quieten, and I realise it is because the lights in the auditorium have started to dim. There is a short period of dead silence, and then the audience applauses because the conductor has appeared. We smile and look at each other. “I sounds like a good audience” I whisper to my fellow actors.

The orchestra springs to life as they play the overture. The stage is suddenly plunged into darkness as the music continues. The curtain goes up and we are dazzled by bright lights. We all look for the conductor’s baton and then break into song on cue. The audience applauds loudly as we leave the stage. Those that are due to go on again soon go to the green room at the side, while the rest of us return to our dressing room upstairs, and wait for the stage manager’s call for us to go back to the stage. We chatter excitedly about how good the audience is, and laugh about mistakes we have made.

I feel that I am in Heaven.

It has taken us a lot of hard work and frustrations getting here, and there were times during rehearsals that I felt like giving up – but now it is all worth it.  None of us have been paid a cent to do this, and it has taken an enormous amount of time and effort to get here, but we are all enthusiastically doing it. This is the magic of amateur theatre.

My childhood and adolescent years were spent in Springs, which was a large town. We did not have any professional theatre groups, so amateur theatre was very popular. We had a beautiful, well equipped theatre which almost always had some show on. There were many theatre groups, like the Springs Operatic Society, Teenage Theatre and the Springs Reps. In addition, the local schools and dance groups put on shows there.  The shows were well supported because audiences knew that they would be treated to quality live shows in comfortable surroundings, without having to go all the way to Johannesburg to see a professional show.

After a very long break, I have returned to amateur theatre. I am now living in Perth, Australia, and I still get a real high out of being involved in a performance. Unfortunately, things are very different to what I experienced in my younger days. Instead of a comfortable modern theatre, we have to make use of a community hall with a modular stage and some retro-fited curtains. There is no green room, dressing room or orchestra pit. The audiences have to endure sitting on hard plastic chairs and have obstructed views. The one plus is that, after the shows, the cast can mingle with the audience and receive the accolades they feel thay have deserved.

I belong to a theatre group called JETS, and have had parts in two of their shows, the most recent being a comedy called Busybody. Unfortunately, my South African accent precludes me from getting any major parts, so I have to be satisfied with smaller roles. Not only that, but there is an amazing amount of talent around, and auditions are hotly contested. My fellow Busybody cast members, especially those taking the larger parts, were absolutely fantastic. They were all so good! It is such a shame that they have to put up with such primitive conditions.

While I am all for promoting a healthy lifestyle, I do think sport gets too much support from the public purse – to the detriment of the Performing Arts. I think it is time that my city, Joondalup, provides its ratepayers with a decent Performing Arts Centre, so that the many talented performers who live here can get a chance  to entertain us properly.

Muppet

As I have mentioned before, I have three adult children who have all married well. My eldest son, Spiderman is married to Petal, and they have a delightful daughter, Blossom. My second eldest son, Muti Man, is married to Gifted One. Muti Man and Gifted One are staying with Mother Superior and me while their house is being built. My youngest child is a daughter, Muppet, who is married to Biggles. This post is about Muppet.

After having two wonderful boys, we were rather hoping for a girl when Muppet arrived. Needless to say, I was overjoyed. It was not that I didn’t love my boys, but it felt complete to have a girl as well.

Mother Superior was delighted, because she could now dress her child in pretty pink outfits.

Muppet and I became big mates, and did everything together. It does appear true that sons tend to migrate towards their mothers, and daughters to their fathers. I suppose it is to do with preparing them for future relationships with the opposite sex. I often wonder how fathers manage with more than one daughter. Muppet was so much part of my life that I don’t know how I would do with any more girls.

As I have already mentioned, Muppet and I did many things together. While the boys appeared to be happy doing their own things, we went shopping,  walking, riding and swimming together. During four years of Muppet’s childhood, Mother Superior worked every weekend. This made Muppet and me especially close. Weekends would have been very lonely without her.

There was one occasion when Muppet was thirsty, and drank from the wine cask in the fridge. She got so drunk that I took her up to the hospital. I carried her into the hospital with me covered in vomit, and Spider Man and Muti Man in tow. I can laugh about it now, but it was one of the lowest points of my life. I felt that I had failed my children. I remember that evening, after the children had gone to bed, the flood-gates opened, and I cried my heart out. I did manage to compose myself before Mother Superior got home from work. Fortunately, she did not appear too worried about it.

While Muppet was going through her teenage years, we often had long conversations on how she should relate to male admirers. I remember telling her that pubescent boys had one thing on their minds, and that she should not feel too flattered at their advances. She was a very pretty girl and should not be taken in. I think she accepted my advice.

I often wondered how I would cope with some other guy taking Muppet away from me, and was dreading the inevitable. However, when the time came, I instinctively knew it was the right thing to do. She is now married to Biggles, with my full blessing. They have been through a lot together, and appear to have survived it all. I admit that sometimes I do feel pangs of nostalgia when they are around, and I realise that I am no longer the main man in her life – but at the same time, I know that it is right. Biggles is a good man for her.

All I can do now is wait for the little muppets and biggles to come into our lives.

My secret

I have decided to come out of the closet, and reveal a terrible secret that I have been trying to hide all of these years.

What is this secret? Is it, maybe, that I like to dress in women’s clothes? Am I addicted to certain drugs? Am I a dangerous psycopath?

No. It is far far worse. I have to admit that I have no interest in any organised sport.

I will give you a moment to take your breath as the shocking revelation hits home. Yes, I find it very difficult to get interested in any organised sport, particularly where professional athletes are involved. I really envy those people who dress up in their team’s colours and attend matches, and display near hysterical joy or sadness when a big man, with whom they have no connection whatsover, kicks a ball between two posts.

I am sorry, but I just don’t get it. A football team, which is actually a business, hires (at great expense) a person who has the ability to run fast and accurately kick a ball. For some reason, this person’s progress becomes very important in people’s lives. This fast running ball kicking person is regarded as an expert in everything, and companies pay him vast sums of money to promote their products, which can be anything from washing powder to mobile phones.

Why is it a great honour for the country when someone, who happens to live in Australia, can swim a nano-second faster than other people?

I have tried to hide this terrible secret by endeavouring to keep up with sport discussions at parties and barbecues. I avidly watch the sport section on the TV newscasts, and desperately try to remember snippets of information that I can later use to contribute in discussions. Unfortunately, I have been caught out on occasions. Many times, I have been introduced to someone who, on detecting my South African accent, will come out with  something like “You guys are not doing to well in the cricket”. When I respond with a blank look, I get met with a mixture of pity and contempt. The look of absolute revulsion on the person’s face shows that I am a social outcast in his eyes and not worthy of any further interraction. I have seen people make a dash for the toilet; no doubt to be sick.  I may be knowledgable about many things, but it is absolutely unforgiveable to know nothing about the cricket.

Why do I have this serious affliction? I think it comes from my school days. I went to a CBC, which had a fixation on sport achievement. I successfully represented the school in speech making and singing, but that was not good enough to get an Honours Blazer. Only sporting achievements were recognised. I really tried to be participate in the sporting activities, but without any success. I tried cricket, soccer, rugby, athletics, tennis, swimming and softball, but always got chased away by an irate sports teacher. I lost interest in playing any sport, so I find to impossible to relate to any of the sporting events today.

Unfortunately, today, the highest accolade you can give a person is that they are very active in playing or following sport. Anyone who is not is regarded as being a bit wierd.

What can I do about it? I am afraid there is nothing. Rather than risk being relegated to leper status, I will simply have to continue to nod my head and pretend to be interested when standing with a group of guys at a function while they are earnestly discussing the relative merits of some football players that I have never heard of, while wishing I could join the ladies in their really interesting conversations.

Ah well…..

“Mother Superior dear, what was the name of the toothpaste that the test match cricketer recommends? We should get some, because he would know what he is talking about. After all, he is good at sport.”