Roseanne Barr on top form...

These last few days I have had Mad Cow Disease. And if you know me, you KNOW, do not pick a fight with me now or say stupid things that are going to piss me off. Not if you value YOUR sanity and peace of mind.

So let’s see what has pissed me off in the last few days. Yesterday I read that Roseanne Barr took a dig, no sorry, let me rephrase that, broadsided/viciously attacked Jon Voight, Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt and their children, on her blog, Roseanne’s World. From the start, let me tell you that I have been an on-again, off-again “fan” (I use the term loosely) of Roseanne Barr. She laid into Jon Voight and called Angelina “evil spawn”, Brad “vacuous” and their children “dunces”. She pronounced that they only give $3 million to charity as though to show that “they give a crap”. Now I am not fond of celebs especially those who are cause celebs for the sake of PR. But I ask you Roseanne, where were you that Christmas day when Angelina and Brad helped out at a shelter in a Central Americancountry – no doubt stuffing your face with the food you can afford with the money you make. Or maybe that is your problem – your little well of riches running dry? So the program you had on television about one of the most dysfunctional, overweight and disrespectful families is no longer paying dividends. That family might have been fictional, but you, Roseanne seemed to fit right in – like a duck to water. And answer this, Roseanne, how much have you given to charity?

While bitching that Angelina Jolie has not endorsed any one candidate yet, has raised some eyebrows considering her known liberal tendencies, blasting her for not doing so is a case of the pot calling the kettle black – in Roseanne’s case. Do we announce our support so that we can say we did so – I see on her blog, Roseanne is selling Gore/Edwards T-shirts – the best ticket in her mind. Ah, yes, lets support an adulterer. That is so much better than not having yet endorsed someone. If Roseanne was giving away those T-shirts free, I would not wear one that supports a man who cheated on his wife while she was suffering from cancer – using her illness to get a sympathy vote – and Angelina is evil?

Say then what you will about grown ups – but where does Roseanne get off calling the kids dunces? I am sure that all good parents think the same – say what you will about me, but don’t touch my kids. Pick on someone your own size! Oh and I am sure Obama loves being supported by a crazy woman who picks on children. Gees, and I thought I was a mad cow! But at least I don’t have methane gas emanating from my mouth…

I don’t have a cohesive post today. There are few things that were on my mind but I could not choose only one to write about so I am going to give a little time to each: some are serious and some are not…

Where are you now?

On May 3rd this year was the one year anniversary of the disappearance of Madeleine McCann - the little 3 year old British girl who vanished in Portugal while on holiday with her parents and twin siblings. I don’t want to get into all the theories of how and why she disappeared. But her continued absence struck a cord with me. I have two daughters and the thought of not knowing where your child is or if they are alive, must be to a parent, the worst feeling in the world. When I studied at university in South Africa, there was a fellow student of mine who went on a working holiday across Europe with his girlfriend in 1992. His name was Delarey McWilliam Smith and his girlfriend was Anita Swaak. In May 1993, they were last seen in Greece while traveling between the Greek islands and Italy. They were due to fly home in August of 1993 but never came home. They have never been seen again and to this day no one knows what happened to them. There was one sighting of them in June of that year but nothing concrete and all clues ran cold. I was not friends with him and if he were alive today, I am not sure if he would even know who I was. We heard about the disappearance in 1993 and for the last 15 years, it has been in the back of my mind. Where are they now? Are they alive? Do they know who they are? I can not even begin to think of what must be going through their parents minds. There were news reports, pleas for information – all at a time when we were not as equipped as today to get the message out there. How long do you grieve for missing people – your missing children. For eternity. How long will we have to wait to find out about Madeleine McCann? Will I still be thinking about it in 15 years?

In the USA, approximately 58 000 children a year are abducted by a non-family member. According to the White House, about 200 000 children are abducted by a family member usually with a custodial dispute of some sort. Of the 100 reported stranger abduction (the most dangerous kind) 40% are murdered. Tough statistics to read when you have children, impossible if you are looking for your missing kid.

Yes, the war in Iraq

The war in Iraq is on every one’s lips now a days, as the politicians battle it out to be the nominee or the next president. I was living in the UK when Bush launched Shock and Awe in Iraq. I don’t think I was ‘awed’ but I was definitely ’shocked’. It was like watching a movie. It could not possibly be real. I have never supported the war but I have always supported the troops. I have definitely always felt with the parents, children, wives and husbands who have loved ones serving in both Iraq and Afghanistan. After all, they are making the ultimate sacrifice. Then we moved here and my heart was touched by the yellow ribbons I saw on the gates and front doors of homes. Homes of families who were waiting for a loved one to return – waiting for a loved one who may never return.

I know this couple, their children attend the same daycare as my youngest. He is a fireman (already a huge hero to me) and a loving father to his two kids. He has already served abroad with the military and has once again been called up to do his patriotic duty. This changed the war for me. I still don’t support it but now I actually know someone who is going over there to fight. Now as I drive between school and afternoon dance classes and girl scouts, I look at the ribbons through new eyes and the significance they carry for those they represent is overwhelming. Stay safe my friend, stay safe.

Soccer Hooligan

What a wonderful example to set for young children, especially those in the UK. Joey Barton. Who? I hear you ask. Joey Barton – a twenty-something football/soccer player for Newcastle United in the UK. He has just been sentenced to 6 months in jail for assault and affray. What a waste of the talent that he has been given. He is earning a very good living by doing something he obviously enjoys but has chosen to be a thug instead. These are people that children look up to. Football/soccer is a religion in the UK and many children look up to these sporting stars as an inspiration to achieve something with there lives. I know, Joey Barton is not the first and he definitely won’t be the last.

Gas

Gas is costing around $4-00 a gallon here in my neck of the woods. It is up 68 cents compared to this time last year. I don’t drive much, thank heavens. Hubby commutes in on the train so my monthly budget for gas is relatively low. Coming from the UK, initially, I could not understand why Americans complain about the gas prices in this country. Where I lived we were paying $10 per English gallon. That is right TEN DOLLARS and remember that an English gallon is less than an American gallon. Granted the cars are smaller with smaller gas tanks and the public transport is so good, you really could get around without a car. But still ten dollars a gallon. However, my rose tinted glasses with which I viewed this country have slightly gone off color. Things are more expensive than they were two years ago. But coming from where I have come from (both SA and the UK), life is still pretty good here and is still pretty affordable if you shop around.

Can I speak to a real person?

I have had the displeasure of having to phone a few service providers over the last few days to schedule furnace repairs, cable box replacements, Internetconnection repairs, amongst others. Never have I felt more like an outsider, a foreigner than when I am confronted with an automated assistant. Press 1 for English, 2 for Spanish. So I press 1. You need to speak your answer but little Miss Automated does NOT understand my South African accent. I am sorry, I did not get that. So I shout ‘Customer Representative’ for the 10th time. I am sorry, I did not get that. Let me transfer you to a customer representative. Why thank you, you are so kind. Our customer service center is currently closed. Please call back between 8am and 5pm. I look at my watch. 5:07pm. When I placed the call it was 4:50pm. Please help me not to go crazy here….

******

So these are my issues today. But on a lighter note. I had the windows cleaned. They are old and with permanent storm windows at the top so me clingingclimbing on a ladder outside trying to wash them is not a good idea. The company arrived this morning. Cleaned all the windows and did it all in a half an hour. I was impressed. But today I felt like a desperate housewife for the first time in my life – ogling the 20-something year old Enrique Iglesias look alike who was adding a shine and sparkle to my day as he washed the windows! I am sure I will call them back again to wash the windows before the winter!

This last weekend, we had a glorious few days. The summer which is peeking from around the corner, showed some of her stuff and served up warm days which we spent gardening, cleaning patio furniture and letting the girls get as dirty as they could in the shortest possible time. After six months inside, it was wonderful to ignore the housework, the laundry and the organising and just spend time outside. Amidst all the replacement appliances we had to purchase, I squeezed in a new gas grill for the Hubby. Being South African, we love BBQ’s – called a braai. In SA though, the debate is not whether you have gas or charcoal – oh no, the debate centers on whether you are using Rooikrans wood (Red wood), doringhout (thorn wood) or wingerdstompies (vine). It is utter sacrilege in South Africa even to contemplate using anything but wood. So my husband is a traitor for trading in the Weber for a gas fired grill but the advantages are wonderful. Quick fire up hence quick dinner (very IMPORTANT when there are hungry children), no excessive smoke and equally important when the wind blows, no braai grit on the food.

So we organised a get together with good friends. They would bring their two kids over and we could spent Saturday sitting outside and enjoying the weather, a good braai, some voddie cocktails (see These Good Things Page). Perfect. But nothing ever goes as smoothly as you had hoped. Harriet and Alexander had a major plumbing disaster in their house and ended up losing the shower and were restricted to minimal use of the bath. On Saturday they dropped the kids off here first so that they could go to Home Depot and Lowes and scout out new bathroom suites seeing as they need to replace everything!

Kids played in the backyard and things were pretty ‘rustig’ (peaceful). Hubby was working hard in the garden (actually he put in so much elbow grease, I am scared he is going to take sick leave for a week!), I was in and out between trying to tidy the house in desperate need of a clean up and enjoying the sunshine. Harriet and Alexander returned from the expedition looking slightly parched and exhausted. Luckily I had a jug of voddie cocktails on hand to offer my weary guests. Hubby was getting all his new tools and his new grill ready for the big inaugural braai. Hubby and Alex sauntered off to the patio and proceeded to figure out how to ignite the grill. Harriet and I were sitting on the lawn chairs listening to the incessant clicking of the ignition but absent was the roar of testosterone fueled grunting that would illustrate success and ‘We have fire Wilson! Fire…’

After fifteen minutes of clicking, I pulled myself out of my chair, away from my glass to go and see what the problem was. “Who assembled this thing?” Hubby hissed as he turned the ignition switch for the fifteenth time, hoping it would be different. “The store did, before they delivered it.” I answered him, knowing he knew the answer to his own question. “Well, someone did something wrong because it is sparking but it won’t stay on.” I asked him then if he smelt gas when he opened the bottle to which I just got a grunted reply – could have been either a yes or a no.

“Did you read the trouble shooting section?” was the next question. This question was treated with disdain that all men treat the mere suggestion of trouble shooting. If you read that section, you are not a man, just like a map, it is only there for women who do not know what they are doing. Hubby smiled a wry smile and said that there was no trouble shooting section in the manual. “Oh, so this is not it on page 23 under the heading Troubleshooting?” I asked. Just to drive my point home, I read the entire list under trouble shooting. One of the suggestions was: Check that your gas bottle is full. The retort here from behind the huge facade of the grill was yet another grunt.

By now the children were standing sullen faced looking at the inactive grill wishing that Burger King did a delivery. “Did you smell gas?” I asked again, my tone insistent of an answer this time. “Not really.” was the muffled answer I received. Hubby picked up the gas bottle and commented how light it seemed. THAT IS BECAUSE IT IS EMPTY TIM ALLEN! I went inside and turned the oven on to 425F so that I could at least cook the sausages for the kids.

Alexander and Hubby jumped into the car and raced off to have the bottle filled at the closest place. About twenty minutes later they returned somewhat resembling medieval soldiers back from battle with raucous laughter and the deepened voices to indicate that these men are victorious and that the little women should fret no more, as dinner will be cooked on the flame within minutes. Harriet and I just sighed. If we were grilling, we would have of course tested the grill earlier and avoided this crisis. When Harriet asked why I had not checked the grill, I told her that I was instructed in no uncertain terms that I was not to touch this grill… It was his and I had no business whatsoever going near it – it was a piece of equipment I would clearly not understand.

The boys fired up the grill eventually, after another 15 minutes of trying to get it to light. We ate three hours later than scheduled but thanks to the trusty over inside the kitchen, the kids were well fed and soon were lying under blankets in the living room watching TV. Harriet, Alexander, Hubby and I finished all the cocktails and the food was great. Of course, though, there will never be a mention about this again, ever. What happens on the patio, stays on the patio. The only observation Hubby made was that he needs to figure out the ‘timing’ of the cooking procedure – after years of barbecuing on wood, it was a major adjustment for him. No kidding mate. I can think of a number of different adjustments:

1. The trouble shooting section should be printed in the front section of the manual – before the index. Men don’t read the instructions but clearly will need to refer to the trouble shooting section.

2. The trouble shooting section should be renamed: ‘Check this before telling your wife something is wrong with your grill’ – this would make it clear what bases need to be covered, saving face for the husbands but saving valuable time for the wife leaving her free to pre-heat the oven or get the take out menu ready.

3. Men should ALWAYS test new appliances they use BEFORE guests arrive. This way they retain their dignity and the wives don’t have to cook an unexpected meal.

Since this first braai, Hubby tried again and succeeded in serving up delicious lamb chops, so it was a lesson well learnt. Now if only he can stop refering to me as Wilson every time the grill ignites, we would have made some real progress here.