Somebunny has a warped sense of humour

This morning, while wandering outside and having my first cuppa java, I spotted a rabbit rushing across the field beyond the property boundary. I found myself willing it to turn back and not find a way through the fence, as on this side there are two giant dogs and a pretty agro little one.  It came through anyway, but managed to cross the acres unmolested, so I guess it had lucky rabbit feet!

It got me to thinking about bunnies in general… How one boiled bunny spread fear and horror through the male population in the late 80′s. How we think they are cute and cuddly (the Japanese think so anyway), but really they can be twitchy and snappy. And in some people they trigger strange behaviour.

Friends of mine in America were bunny people. They had a pair who predictably copulated like..well, er…rabbits. They unpredictably only produced two babies in the litter. One was given to an enthusiastic home and the other was kept by the family. For no reason that anyone could fathom, this particular bunny was in the incarnation of Bunnicular. Unlike its parents, it hated people and benevolent actions like the arrival of food were greeted with attacks. Nips are okay…biting an adult thumb down to the bone is just scary.

I decided that my kids with their little fingers were no longer available for bunny sitting when the family went away. One adult thumb to the bone = one child finger severed.

After much soul-searching, the family decided that the bunny was too much of a liability.Visions of lawsuits danced in their heads…no sugar plums in sight. The problem was letting go… Despite its tendency to amputate fingers, the bunny had a beautiful coat, it was the much anticipated child to their two cuddly bunnies – somehow just ending was not going to do. The thought that perhaps keeping the pelt would be okay crossed someone’s mind… But that someone had laryngitis… so that someone came to me and asked me to call the taxidermist to find out how much it would cost to skin a rabbit…

The phone call was somewhat like being plunged into the heart of Deliverance. The creature on the other end assured me it would be his pleasure to take the pelt off the rabbit. He somewhat ghoulishly suggested that he would throw in the euthanasia for free… having been somewhat perturbed when I explained that it would be delivered to him fresh from the needle at the vet’s office. I was suddenly very glad that my friend had laryngitus, that she could not deal with this hick from the backwoods of the Appalachians. I had hideous visions of pet turned pot roast (which was why he probably wanted it sans the drugs). Seems Alan Alda was right - Never have your dog stuffed.

I am not a sales person – but I believe I reached previously unknown heights of persuasion after I terminated that call.   So bunny came back from the vet and because it was no longer going to the skinning scary guy, there was state of limbo. So bunny was carefully wrapped in a towel and several plastic bags and given a freezer shelf to itself…

It became a little too much for my bizarre sense of humour. The giggles always threatened to erupt every time an item from the freezer was offered. Ice cream? As long as it’s not Bunnilla flavour!

Eventually it was decided that the frozen fuzzball would be given a proper burial in the back yard – unfortunately winter had set in and the ground was as hard as a rock. Eventually the bunny left the freezer in the spring time and was laid to rest with due care, attention and ceremony.

RIP Bunnicular – I hope there are hosts of heavenly thumbs to hew in the hereafter… In retrospect – I think you were put on this planet as retribution for all the people who own “lucky” rabbits’ feet. You just never got a chance to complete your rabbity revenge!

We have a host of bunny vinyls available for Easter decorations. Email us at sales(at)themoon(dot)co(dot)za

Trees!

Holiday gift cards - for clients who don't do snow images for a summer Christmas. environmentally friendly too - no ink, and earning treebucks.

“The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago – the next best time is now”

I love trees. Hang on, let me qualify that – I love most trees. I hated the ancient apple tree in my garden in America that produced a million wormy sour apples every year. The apples fell to the ground and attracted two million wasps – that tree I mentally consigned to tree hell. Oh yeah, I hate eucalyptus and black wattle trees that some idiot introduced to South Africa eons ago. Now they thrive and suck much needed water from the ground and crowd out indigenous species. Those trees need to emigrate back to Australia!

I love indigenous trees. They have such wonderfully evocative names: Tamboti,  Baobab, Jackalberry, Umbrella Thorn, Bushwillow, Buffalothorn, Mopani, Paperbark, Fevertree, Sausagetree,  Stinkwood, Sneezewood, Yellowwood – beautiful trees in a beautiful country.

I love climbing trees. I spent quite a lot of my childhood in trees and wish my kids had a tree to climb and build a treehouse in. I Want a grown up treehouse one day – yes, they do exist – I have the book! I have been known to totally embarrass my children by shinning up a suitable tree to look at the world from a different view-point.

I like tree people too! At the Yebo Gogga event last year, we met Sean Hide of Grow-A-Tree fame. We already owned a Grow-A-Tree White Stinkwood which had already reached a nice height of 30cm (from seed). On meeting Sean, my daughter, the family tree-embracer and inspiration behind out treebucks programme indulged in a Wild Olive tree pack . Sean is a dynamic guy -  and I suspect if we had lingered for any length of time at his stand, I would have taken home a small forest in seed form. I think it’s the best gift for someone who loves growing stuff.

If you would prefer the idea of a bigger tree with a more immediate effect on the environment, instead of the long haul of waiting for your baby to grown from seed, then Food and Trees for Africa are the people to contact. In addition to planting trees to offset carbon emissions, they also run  programmes that educate communities about sustainable food gardening.

We will be contacting them today with our latest order! We are happy to report that 10 trees will be taking root on behalf of clients who earned enough treebucks recently.

Treebucks? Treebucks are virtual points we award to clients who order printed goods through our company. We love design and marketing, but the worst part about it is thinking of all that paper being used. After working out how many square metres of paper would be equivalent to a tree, we award clients treebucks based on the square-meterage of their print order. When they have enough bucks – we buy a tree from Food and Trees for Africa on their behalf.

We have a few clients teetering on the brink of being tree “owners”, and some who are about to be responsible for mini plantations. We are grateful for all of their orders and although they might never actually sit under the tree they are responsible for, they can enjoy the virtual benediction of the shade and wealth they have provided for countless others.

Have you planted/hugged/consigned to hell/deported/climbed a tree today?

Going nuts!

The squirrels are looking for me, they think I'm nuts!

Allergies are irritating. One of the worst aspects of having a child with food allergies is realising that the shiny immortality bubble that most kids carry around like a second skin isn’t present in the allergic child. They learn to worry about anaphylaxis and death, they have to carry around anti-histamines and ephedrine injectors, they learn to ask, and as soon as they can read, they read ingredient labels.

As a parent, you can hover and bite your nails, if that makes you happy. But it is more than likely going to send you to the nut-house.  Demanding a nut/wheat/dairy/egg/soy free environment is a road to insanity as well. In America, the K-3 school my children attended  had a partially nut-free policy. All common areas like the art class, media centre and library were totally nut-free zones. The rest of the school was okay except for the classrooms of the children with allergies. In those rooms, the kids who had peanut/nut products in their lunches could not open their lunch boxes in the classroom. All children ate at tables set out in the gym and the allergic kids had a special table apart from the rest of the school.

I know this smacks of segregation, but this issue is fraught with all kinds of emotional reactions, usually from parents: the parents who want their kids to be able to eat peanut butter vs. the parents who are terrified their child will die from the allergy. It has all the makings of an ugly scene or two.

In my opinion, the only solution is education and hard work. The separate table and nut-free zones may seem like hard work, but once the work is done, they are constant reminders to the teachers and students that there are seemingly innocuous things in this world that can be deadly to other people. It is kinetic education on a daily basis. Educate the allergic child to read labels, ask questions and if in doubt – Don’t. Educate the teachers on allergies and when to administer ephedrine. Educate the classmates about allergies and how to avoid killing their friends. Educate yourself so that you plan ahead and actually prepare food from scratch with ingredients you trust.

Part of the hard work for me is getting a nut-free policy of sorts started at the school my children attend in South Africa. Cases of severe nut allergies are increasing in South Africa, of course not in the numbers seen elsewhere, as our population is smaller and in most cases, quite poor, and as reported in the Sunday Times on October 25th this year, allergies seem to be more prevalent in the affluent.

The school advertised as a nut-free school, but they are dancing to a different tune now. There has been a change in tuck-shop management and the people who now run it are clearly woefully ignorant of food allergy issues. They stocked all kinds of peanut laden chocolate bars and when asked to cater for a school function in winter, very cleverly garnished a cauldron full of butternut soup with nuts! Bearing in mind this was a mass catering event, how long do your think the “pretty” addition on the top lasted? Of course it was the soup that my child preferred and of course the server had no idea what the ingredients were. It is only the chance passing of one of the geniuses behind the garnish idea who heard my nut questions that saved us from some very unpleasant consequences.

The furious email that was delivered to all senior management in boxes, probably did more harm than good. I wouldn’t really know, as most of them did not bother to reply and when they did it was with an answer that a politician would be proud of!

I have now made myself super popular by sending yet another round of emails after some nut tartlets were served at yet another school event. Caterers are denying all knowledge of the items, but unless I was hallucinating, they existed and emerged from the catering hatch, so someone is being economical with the truth.

Eventually in an attempt to get some sort of workable policy in place, I made an appointment with the headmaster of the Preparatory School and presented him with a written out plan that could potentially work and not step on the toes of the kids who like peanut butter. I offered my services as an allergy coordinator/implementor of plan and presenter of allergy information to all parents.

As a peace-offering, I created the mug pictured above. I had thought it out and sketched the squirrels after the first nutty email, and did the final finishing in Photoshop before the meeting. My reasoning being that you get further with a smile than you do with a frown.  Wish I had thought of this before I sent those emails. I wish I had known about Nick Morgan’s blog posts on body language so I could have gauged whether the principal was open or closed to my ideas.

The mug is now sitting on the secretary’s desk (note to Headmaster – my spies are everywhere!) which may or may not be a sign that they are receptive to change. There was a lot of humming, haa-ing, ifs, ands, and buts thrown around at the meeting. I hope they are prepared to do some work on this, if not they are going to be driven nuts by me and the squirrels might find them.

Being thankful

When I created this t-shirt/coffee mug slogan, it was based on an email that went around listing the promises girlfriends should make to each other. A nice departure from cute teddies and hearts and sloppy messages doing the email rounds. I have girlfriends who would at least give me a virtual slap for not taking care of myself and I think they are the best kind of friends to have. They stand by you in the tough times, but when you are whining or being stupid, they tell you so with no punches pulled. Of course, you get to return the compliment when they whine!

It reminded me that Thanksgiving is coming up in the States next week. When I first moved to America, Thanksgiving was just a couple of days off school and work. We were somewhat isolated as it is a holiday that involves families and togetherness and as a family of foreigners we watched with some confusion the turkey feasts that went on around us. Later, as we were adopted by various families, I came to appreciate just how nice this holiday is.

Okay it’s a bit hinky because it is only a month away from Christmas and there you are eating turkey. Most Americans thought we were a bit weird to eat turkey at Christmas, but there we were facing two massive bird eating rituals within a month. But it’s not the bird that you need to consider.

What is great about Thanksgiving is the concept. You get together with friends and family and eat well. There are no gifts to stress about and the food is not too much work as inevitably,  people bring a contribution to the feast. It ties in with nature in that the food reflects the bounties of the harvest (and perhaps in earlier times, the last feast you would have before the hardships of winter set in). At every Thanksgiving dinner we attended, there was a moment of serious reflection at the table in which everyone got a turn to say what they were thankful for.

Much better than whining because your in-laws are convinced you are a scarf person and just gave you your twentieth scarf for Christmas. Or wishing that Santa had found the wherewithal to put a Playstation 3 in your stocking.

Even though I no longer live in America, I still take the time to be thankful at this time of year. In Johannesburg it is easy. If you listen to 94.7 Highveld stereo in the mornings at this time of year, you’d better have your dark glasses and tissues on standby, because it’s Christmas Wish time.  I like to think of it more as Thanksgiving season. People show their thankfulness for family and friends and sometimes virtual strangers by nominating them. And all of us who listen, even if you are feeling the financial squeeze, realise that we need to be thankful for what we have and the blessings that come our way and fail to recognise. I get so caught up in being grateful, I barely shout at the radio when they say “amount” of wishes instead of  “number” of wishes. For that story click here.

Forget Christmas wish lists and make a Thanksgiving list!

I am thankful for: The boy with two brains, the challenging brilliant girl, the wise cracking family clown, the friends who send me virtual slaps when I whine and virtual hugs when I need them, (I miss laughing so hard around the Thanksgiving table that we all risk choking), the sister who “gets” me, the brother who challenges me creatively, the parents who are always there for us all.

I am thankful to live in a crazy city where the Christmas wish on the radio probably causes several near accidents a day as people blubber and sniff their way to work. Thanks for those tears, they remind me that I am lucky.

Are you free?

Do you agree?

Not are you in prison?  or  Have you been abducted and kept as a sex slave in a garden shed for umpteen years?

But…

Are you free?

Don’t you think that some are shackled by ideas that keep their minds in chains?

A school in Middle-of-Nowhere, USA has wasted about $700 on t-shirts for their marching band because they depicted the evolution of man as well as the evolution of music. This is one of those daft towns where the school district (yes! Educators who are supposed to be educating!) probably voted not to allow the Theory of Evolution to be taught (or mentioned, or probably even thought about). My favourite stupid quote from the article: “I was disappointed with the image on the shirt. I don’t think evolution should be associated with our school.”  Reading between the lines: Development of  scientifically based theories, advancement in knowledge and thinking outside the religious box are not allowed in Education!

Can we all scream now?

They don’t want to admit that the origin of mankind can be traced back by science… They deny the theories of Charles Darwin as they feel they clash with the concept of creation depicted in the Bible.

If we follow this argument logically then  South Africa must be one of the most anti-biblical countries in the world. And the World Heritage Sites in the Cradle of Humankind are some sort of pagan conspiracy.

One of my favourite quotations: “Only the educated are free” is attributed to Epictetus – A Greek-born Roman slave and Stoic philosopher… He had to know what he was talking about having experienced slavery and freedom.

If you are educated enough to know that sticking to a narrow mindset will get your brain locked away forever… go back to school and thank the teacher who turned the key that set you free… Mr Malema need not bother.

International Teachers’ Day – 5 October 2009

They brew the right ideas - give them the vessel to prove it!

9/11 – where were you?

Everyone remembers where they were on September 11, 2001.

I was in a PTA meeting in New Jersey, about 30 miles away from the Twin Towers. Prime commuter territory for Manhattan. Shortly after the first plane hit the first Tower, the secretaries from the office rushed into the meeting with the news. At that point in time, everyone thought it was a small plane, and that it was terrible, but not disastrous. There was a fumble for cell phones as most of the mothers in the meeting panicked about their husbands many of whom worked in the financial district.

Sitting two seats away was a woman whose husband had called her: He was in his office on a floor above the crash site. She was not to worry as he was going to get out. He loved her. ..  She is one of the 9/11 widows in that small New Jersey town.

By the time the second plane hit, the meeting had disbanded. The soon to be widow was taken home by a comforting posse of friends. I walked home and found my answer machine full of panicked messages from Africa. Not my parents – they knew I was unlikely to be downtown that early inthe morning – but from friends whose parents had been staying with me. I had forgotten all about them!

These two lovely people had been my house guest for five days while they explored New York. They had been up the Twin Towers two days before. They were on their way to Seattle and I had waved them off at 5:00am that morning as a cab took them off to JFK airport – an hour’s drive and two bridges away from New Jersey. Now no one knew where they were!

The American Airlines Call Centre in Florida was being a bit cagey – no they could not give me any details of the flight. I told them that I was trying to find two retired South African tourists who would truly be stranded if the plane had been forced to land in some godforsaken backwater. I was also concerned that their plane could have been a target plane – a long haul flight full to the gills with lovely combustible aviation fuel, leaving around the right time – perhaps the terrorists were not finished with this campaign? Eventually I asked the right question: Could they tell me if the plane had taken off? The answer – “No – it had not taken off”. Phew! They were stranded on Long Island!

There was no way for me to get hold of them, but eventually they managed to call on a borrowed phone and let me know that they had found a cab, found a hotel room (further away from NYC than the airport) and they were okay. The redoubtable husband had even taken on the airport authorities and insisted on getting his luggage back! A smart move in retrospect as many people had their luggage looted by the kindof human vermin that love chaos. My small crisis had been averted. They never got to go to Seattle or LA or Las Vegas as planned, after 3 days of being stranded, they came back to my house and waited out the travel blackout before returning home.

In our small town there were about 11 dead. But there were also the miracle stories. People who had meetings in one the Towers but had been delayed by traffic or in the case of a close friend had been answer urgent emails in his office in Jersey City and had set out late for the meeting. We all climbed to the top of the highest hill in town and could see the buildings burning… It seemed that no one slept very well – but everyone pitched in. We donated clean socks, bottled water, blankets, food batteries and flashlights to the firefighters who were searching Ground Zero. We extended helping hands to bereaved families. We said many many prayers and wondered if they were heard. This spirit is being remember this year.

9/11 reforged a nation that had been soft and secure and complacent. Friends were shocked when I mentioned that they had experienced in one excruciating day what the rest of the world had suffered for decades.  They had not considered themselves in that light.

The mood in America became very nationalistic, and not necessarily for the good. A few years later, once the war in Iraq had started, my proudly South African flag I hung outside my house as an ironic counterpoint to all the star-spangled banners, was ripped down, as was my flag holder. I felt violated and angry and also sad that a fight I had not entered into had made an impact on my freedom.

Eight years on – I hope that Obama manages to get American troops out of the middle east, because it is impossible to heal while the wound is kept open.

Taxi!

The must wear design for all South Africans abroad!

Other countries deal with moose or kangaroos or hedgehogs crossing the roads. Here in South Africa the hazards are people, goats and worst of all, taxis. There is not a  South African driver who has not had a close encounter of the hair-raising kind with a “mini-bus” taxi. Every week there are news reports of horrific accidents involving taxis or shocked newspaper articles about taxis running over school children.  We are all briefly up in arms, but then the usual reaction sets in – Ho hum, some other poor sod had a taxi  – stop suddenly in front of them/veer across three lanes of traffic/burst into flames/scream through a red light at top speed/take a turn too fast and end up rolling/sideswipe your car as it gets back on the official road, having driven down the emergency lane for the last 10 kilometres (circle applicable).

The government has finally instituted the BRT (Bus Rapid Transit) system. This is the hopes that spectators will be able to get to soccer matches in one piece in 2010 perhaps? The petulant taxi industry is having a tantrum. They don’t want the buses in their sandbox and so they are holding their collective breaths until the buses go home.  Competition is not something they like at all. In fact rival taxi companies have been known to have gunfights at the sightest provocation – another reason to avoid them!

I want to say: “Go ahead – take your toys and go home, I love the roads without taxis on them.” But there are people who desperately need taxis to get them to and from work and it’s not great for the economy… hopefully the BRT will be able to cope despite first day chaos and the need for these death traps on wheels will decrease.

I am enjoying the taxi free roads in the meantime.