BAHB! Birthday, Award, Holiday, Bo!

So, a slightly rushed post this on the eve of getting yet another year older, a tiny bit greyer and a wee bit more wrinkly... Just a couple of years off my half century and starting to feel like a serious cricket score… Of course, all this only matters if you actually believe in time – which I don’t, unless it’s to compare it with lumpy custard – but that’s another story entirely! As far as I'm concerned I'm still as much of a kid as I was at 12! Well, okay, maybe not quite 12...


So all sorts of bits and pieces in this post, given I’m off on Tuesday to more northern climes. Which means the old blog will be having a bit of a holiday - since I’ve no intention of posting while I’m away. But, that said, I will be back and hopefully with lots of piccies, including some of blogging buddies and writer friends. Yep, that will be one of the coolest parts of my trip – meeting up with old and new friends – so, so, so looking forward to it. See you soon, guys!


And then, perhaps the best news possible… Ms Bo appeared in the garden this morning – with a beau – the saucy minx. She’s grown considerably and looks like a really strong young bird – mind you with that head start of maggots and mealworms she’s had a good base to build from. She looks almost full sized now but is still very neurotic. She doesn’t seem to be part of a big group yet but appeared to be on the fringes, possibly, of the Ba-Kaaka Nostra – who were chasing her something rotten. Still, she’s been away from us for two weeks and is clearly fending just fine for herself. I’m really hoping that now she knows there is always food here, she’ll come back a little more often.


It really was so amazing to see her and we both recognized her instantly – there was just something about the bird on the lawn – and then a closer look showed us her white claws and that confirmed it. As was the fact that she took off when I called her by name. Yep, Ms Bo ain’t having anything to do with being a domesticated bird! And you know what? Good for her, I say.

And finally, to leave you with a little something while I’m away... Carol from Not Only in Thailand very kindly bestowed upon me the Kreativ Blogger award. And this time I’m going to break my rules and actually pass this one on.


The rules say I have to list seven things that I love… Only seven? That seems totally unreasonable. Oh well, here goes…

My beloved D – my very best friend and my home.
Friends, including the furry and feathered ones in the garden – they are the bubbles in the champagne of life.
Writing – even when I’m dozing I’m writing stories, non-fiction or potential blog posts in my head.
Reflecting – I’m a ponderer and a wonderer frequently considering awakening and awareness.
Photography – seeing the world through the lens of a camera is to see the world in an entirely different way. And it’s incredibly healing.
Reading – there’s an adventure in every book, irrespective of the nature of the book.
Cooking – my paternal great-grandmother was a cook, my maternal grandfather was a chef – what can I say, it’s in the blood and I find it creative, fulfilling and wholesome fun.

And this time I’m going to break my rules and actually pass this one on to some particularly creative souls:

RL Bourges of Ici, Graulhet

Lettuce of Lettuce Eating

Val of Monkeys on the Roof

Tessa of An Aerial Armadillo

Rick of Kyklops (yes, honey, you for those great photos)

Pat from Write Up the Hill

Jane of Wittering On

Baino of Baino’s Banter

Lola of Aglio, Olio & Peeroncino and,

Vesper of Chick with a Quill

So, there you go, until I see you in a few weeks time, take care, have fun, live abundantly, soar high and be blessed in all that you do.

The Chickens Have Landed - Part Three

The Chickens Have Landed - Part One
The Chickens Have Landed - Part Two


“And then there was that other friend, wasn’t there,” says Atyllah, egging me on.
“Yes,” I say. “I only sent him an email requesting that he issue D with a letter of invitation about five weeks ago.”
“Whatcha need a letter of invitation for if he’s a friend?” asks Granny looking puzzled.
She’s never quite got the hang of human bureaucracy. Mind you, I can’t say I have either.
“D needs a visa. Because we’re staying with a friend, the friend has to issue a written invitation so the authorities know we’re not refugees or state freeloaders.”
Granny considers this for a moment. “Nope, still don’t get it.”
“Don’t worry about it Granny, most don’t, it’s human stuff,” remarks Atyllah.
“Ah,” says Granny, “well that’s all right then. Their stuff has never made sense. I still can’t get my head around all this division humans are so incredibly intent upon.”
“No, me neither.”
“Frankly, they’re a disgrace to the oneness of the multiverse,” mutters Granny as her eyes redden.
“That’s what Aunt Aggie always used to say,” replies Atyllah.

Great Aunt Aggie, Philosopher Chicken, now with the Andromedans manifesting multiversal peace

“Shall I carry on?” I ask. “If you’re sure you’re quite finished.”
“Of course, of course, you carry on, dear,” says Granny pouncing on an unfortunate bug that had been minding its own business on the daisy bush.
“Well,” I say, “after four weeks no invitation was forthcoming and we were running out of time to apply for the visa. I emailed him again – and again – and again… Eventually he said it was too complicated… I mean I ask you, what is it with men?”
“Human men,” corrects Atyllah.
“Yes, well, them too,” I mutter.
“I can’t stand the suspense,” squawks Granny, “did you get the vista or not?”
“The visa,” I say, “I don’t know. We did finally get the invitation, after a considerable amount of stress. Whether we get the visa on time remains to be seen. We may yet be staying home and missing our holiday. You know, I really-really-really don’t need stress like this – not after everything went tits up with the other friend. Did I mention how much extra that has cost us? Did I?”
“Um, well I did spot the figure in your brain. You haven’t thought of, you know, doing that thing the Americans so love to do – what’s it called now…? Sewing her.”
“Ooh,” crows Granny, “you mean like stitching her up - like that Frankestein fellow.”
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes, “I think she means mean suing.”
“Yes! That’s it! You haven’t though of suing her, have you?” asks Atyllah. “I gather she is extraordinarily wealthy…”
“No, but I did withdraw all offers of friendship. I’ve decided that loyalty is vastly overrated.”
“Oh I could have told you that if you’d but asked. It’s really not a quality suited to the current state of human evolution,” says Atyllah. “And besides, there is nothing quite so callous as the super rich. We see it all the time with the Arcturean nobility. Think they’re gods – or something.”
“More like something – from the depths of the henpost heap,” mutters Granny and then pats my knee with a knobbly claw. “Don’t worry, darling, you can always come back to Novapulse with us for a nice little break. We love to have you…”
“Thank you, Granny,” I say weakly. Somehow, and with full respect (I’d be mad to have anything less) the idea of three weeks living amongst chickens who are human sized just doesn’t appeal.
“And then, what was the other thing?” asks Atyllah.
“I don’t know why you keep asking me when you already know.”
“Ah yes, the other was the administrative bit of financial bungling caused by bank officials which may well cost you a few thousand pua shells.”
I grunt and notice that my heart rate is doing a jitterbug jive without the benefit of a tune. I can feel the steam building up in my ears and my foot starts to tap the floor in an uncontrollable way.
“Well, I think we arrived just in time!” announces Granny. “I can see my little cupcake here has been well and truly upset and that Does Not Please Me.”
She quivers and a strange sound starts to build up. It seems to begin near her knees. It travels upwards and issues from her beak as cacophony best described as a howling screech.
OMG! Granny is going Were! And it’s not yet full moon.
Oh dear. It truly doesn’t do to anger the old bird anywhere around full lunar manifestation.
I watch in alarm has her talons start to extend. Her eyes develop a maniacal gleam, her beak sharpens to a razor-sharp point and thick clumps of fur start to sprout between her toes.
“Let me at the bastards,” she screeches.
“BAHOWOOOOOKAAAAAOOOOOOWWWWL!”
I stuff my fingers in my ears and grin quietly behind my scarf. Frankly, I am delighted the chickens are here.
“See, I knew you would be,” says Atyllah smugly.

Granny Were starts to go were...

The Chickens have Landed - Part Two

Atyllah the Hen...

The Chickens Have Landed - Part One


“So,” says Atyllah the Hen slurping through a straw at her mopani worm juice, “do you want to tell us about it?”
“What’s the point,” I mutter, “You already know. I can feel your mind creeping about my thoughts like a ravenous, oversized mealworm.”
“I’ll ignore that reference,” says Atyllah.
“Ooh, mealworms, did you say mealworms?!” cries Granny Were excitedly. “Oh I don’t suppose you have any?”
“Out in the garage,” I say, “In the aquarium. Left over from Ms Bo’s days.”
“Hmm,” mutters Atyllah, her tone as dark as a storm cloud whose thunder’s been stolen. “I heard about that. I always said no good would come of your playing at Mother Fowl. Or is that foul?” she murmurs sotto voce.
“Listen here,” I protest.
“Ptchah!” snorts Atyllah and little flecks of mopani worm juice create an unattractive speckling on the fabric of the sofa. “So, this trouble you’ve been having… You do know,” she says giving me the kind of thoughtful look that would make lesser beings crumble to dust, “don’t you, that your infuriation has been radiating across the multiverse like a star going supernova on a clear night. I’m surprised the Alpha Vampirieans haven’t been here yet to leech all that juicy red hot energy from you.”
“The Alpha Vampirieans? Who the hell are they?”
“Ah, yes, hell indeed, but perhaps the less said the better. I wouldn’t want to give you nightmares, think how my own beauty sleep might be disrupted. Let’s just say they materialized 240 degrees off the west front of the Gamma Quadrant, and have been making um… food along the way.”
I consider her words for a moment and feel beads of icy sweat prickle on the back of my neck. Alpha Vampirieans…
“Yes, that’s right,” says Atyllah, “The general idea forming in that pea brain of yours is about right.”
I do so resent the liberties the Chicken takes in infiltrating my thoughts – and categorizing my brain.
She smiles. “Don’t you just wish you were telepathic? Now, now, don’t lie…”
From the back yard I hear a contented belch. Clearly Granny has not only found the mealworms but has eaten the lot. Sigh.
“Now, about this trouble of yours, tell me all about it.”
“What’s the point, you know anyway or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Yes, but you know that a problem shared is a problem halved.”
Oh the rhetoric!
“Sarcasm, my dear Vanilla, as you have so often told me, is not an enviable form of wit. But no matter, given your reluctance, shall I just list the annoyances of the last few weeks and we can form a plan of action from there.”
“Action? Did someone finally say action?” Granny flings herself upon the sofa and lets rip a fart of spectacular proportions. “Sorry,” she says fanning the fumes away, “it was the beans I found in your vegetable patch. They don’t seem to quite agree with me.”
FRRRRT!
“Perhaps we should sit outside,” I suggest as a noxious vapour threatens to overpower me.
We migrate to the patio and watch the space pod as it bobs, glinting like a pearlescent oyster, around the pool.
“Now, as I see it,” says Atyllah, “first there was that so-called friend of yours who decided she was swanning off to a spa for a month.”
“I don’t see any problem there,” said Granny frowning. “What’s wrong with going to a spa. Ooh, do you think she’d mind if I joined her.”
“Oh yes, please do,” I encourage. “I wouldn’t have minded at all,” I say turning to Atyllah, “were it not for the fact that we were going halfway across the world to visit and stay with her. I mean, it is a bit rude, don’t you think, having made all the arrangements, booked the flights, checked and double checked that our visit would not inconvenience her, for her to suddenly turn round and say, ‘oh, I probably won’t be here when you get here’. I mean, you know, WTF?”
“Yes, I see your point,” says Atyllah, preening an errant wing feather. “Not very nice.”
“No manners that,” snaps Granny, “No etiquette. Most inconsiderate.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I reply.
“Yes, I think perhaps I may well pay her a visit in that spa,” murmurs Granny, her eyes glinting in a way that has been known to make warrior Draconians tremble in their iron studded boots.

Granny Were...

TO BE CONTINUED…If the world survives.

The Chickens have Landed - Part One

An all too familiar screech ricochets through the fabric of time and space. It is accompanied by muffled cursing of the more fruity variety.
SPLASH!
Why the space pod, a translucently silver capsule, always lands in the swimming pool is beyond anyone of human persuasion.
“It’s because the garden is too densely treed to allow a safe landing on the lawn!” squawks an indignant voice.
As if anyone would dare call the pilot’s navigational skills into question.
“You do understand that, don’t you?” It’s the kind of voice that has an insistence about it that cuts through the skull-bone and penetrate directly into a mind – which is exactly what it is doing.
Telepathically projected it feels like sherbet of the brain. And it itches.
“To the rescue!” crows another voice. It has a rasping quality which is edged with a sort of lunatic peal. “Let me at ‘em!”
Anyone who knows and hazards a glance at the evening sky will cringe realizing it is nearly full moon…
“Help me out of this damned thing!” snaps the second voice. “And make sure I don’t get my feathers wet!”
“Granny,” clucks the first voice, “stop being such a drama queen. Ouch!”
Oh yes, gentle reader, the Chickens have landed. Gird your loins for the going the might get rough. And bloody.
“I don’t know why you bothered to hide.” Atyllah the Hen’s voice reverberates down the passage with foghorn intensity. “You know I know exactly where to find you.”
“Anyone would think she’d be pleased to see us,” mutters Granny Were. “Did you pack the corncakes, I’m feeling a bit peckish.”
‘Oh Vanill-aaaaaahhhh!” The tone can not be described as dulcet.
“OUCH! OW! STOP PECKING ME!”
“How many times must I tell you – you can run but you can’t hide. And anyway what kind of greeting is this? You with your head under the bed and your backside pointing skywards like some flat-barreled missile? You haven’t been at the beans, have you?” Atyllah asks suspiciously.
“Your trouble is you’re incorrigible,” I mutter backing out from under the bed in what can best be described as an inelegant manner.
“Darlingggggg,” crows Granny Were wrapping her wings around me.
ATISHOO!
Bloody chicken feathers.
“What – sniff – are you doing here?”
“Your woes are our woes,” says Atyllah in magnanimous tones.
“Ah, you mean Granny felt up for a fight.” The moon’s full-bodied roundness, like a good, wooded Chardonnay, has not escaped my attention. “Couldn’t she have picked on the Draconians? Or is it just that it’s our turn again?”
“Really,” remarks Atyllah as she studies her well-manicured talons, “anyone else would be grateful. A being could be quite insulted by your cavalier idea of a welcome, you know.” She shoots me a beady glance.
I stare at her – and remember to shut my mouth.
“Of course I’m delighted to see you…”
“Oh pull-lease! You were never any good at lying.”
I notice from the corner of my eye that Granny Were is bopping and bouncing like a boxer on cricket juice. “Let me at ‘em, yeah. A peck here, a kick there, a bite to the jugular. Hmm-mmm…”
I groan. It’s my own fault of course. I’m the first to acknowledge my own shortcomings and I hold myself entirely responsible. It’s my own inability to control the anger I’ve felt over the past few weeks as one level of incompetence, selfishness, thoughtlessness and stupidity has leaped to another – and led to the Chickens’ arrival. Actually, if truth be told, I’m secretly rather glad they are here. Sometimes A Chicken With Attitude is just what a girl needs.
“Of course you are,” says Atyllah.
“Of course she is,” echoes Granny Were and smiles. It is a smile which spreads across her beak and can best be described as gruesome. I mean have you ever really, really seen a were-chicken smile?

TO BE CONTINUED… if I survive.

Baboons on my Roof

Baboons in the Vineyards

Val over at Monkeys on the Roof may well have vervet monkeys bouncing all over the roof of her home in the bushveld of Africa. You might say it’s understandable, even to be expected. But it’s an entirely other matter when it happens in the midst of suburbia.

Oh yes, imagine the exception I took when I found monkeys bounding all over my roof.

Okay, so they weren’t monkeys – they were baboons. And it wasn’t my house roof, it was my car roof, and they were not only bouncing on it but they were swinging on the wing mirrors, sliding down the windscreen, having games of chase over the bonnet and wiping their furry bums on my rear window. (I am still trying to get rid of the smudges and smears and paw prints.)

Sticky paw prints...

When I made so bold as to point out the error of their wicked ways – I was out of the car – yes, I would probably walk smack into a nest of vipers – I was roundly lunged and barked at by one hormonally challenged teen. (There’s this to say – adolescents, irrespective of species, are all the bloody same – stroppy and attitudinal!).

Of course, it was my own fault. I’d set off for a stint of late afternoon of photography in the vineyards just up the road and as I drove up the dirt track towards one particular spot, I spotted the baboons romping about at the restaurant/conference centre. The place is only open on Sundays which makes it fair game for the rest of week for the baboons who wouldn’t recognise a trespassers sign if it came up and nipped them on the nether regions. I suspect what made me carry on was the thought (well known by all photographers), “Ooh, cool photo opportunity!” and the fact that someone’s pet Daschund was being chased by the baboons. The owner, bless her blonde baffledness, had scarpered and was standing at the bottom of the road nibbling nervously on a well manicured finger nail – like that was going to do a fat lot of good. I knew if I drove towards the baboons my presence would give them something else to think about - and the dog, a suitably overweight and portly little chap who would have looked good in a large hotdog roll, would have a better chance of making it home to his foie gras on toast.

I suppose most others wouldn’t have even dreamed of getting out of the car when surrounded by a troop of baboons - but the thing is I sort of know this lot. They’re the local troop (I’ve even had them in my garden – oh joy – not!) and unlike many baboons who’ve been exposed to humans and become aggressive, this lot are quite laid back. You mind your manners and they’ll mind theirs.

Foraging between the vines
- I'll ignore you if you ignore me -

The leader of the pack was a huge male with a radio collar around his neck – he was so unphased by my presence he just ambled off down the dirt road (perhaps he still harboured visions of Daschund au Vin) – leaving me with Ma Baboon and the Brat Pack who varied in age from a couple of months to stroppy teens.

Ma Baboon

Monkeys (er, baboons) on my back

Contemplations

They were everywhere and I didn’t envy the restaurant owners as the baboons swung from the telephone wires, slid down the roof, played make believe - pretending the ivy trailing from the pines were monkey vines and they were Tarzan. They stole the last grapes from the vineyards, and played jungle gym on the chimney.

Ooh, look Ma, a swing!

Wheeeee!

Are you getting this - watch me slide, watch me slide!

Me Tarzan, you Tree...

The climbing frame - aka the chimney...

Butter wouldn't melt...

And then they discovered my car...

It's mine! No I saw it first, it's mine

Er, um, excuse me, actually, it's mine...

Ya! I'm the king of the castle!

Hmm, now how do I get in?

Ooh, I can swing on this, what fun!

Hey! It's a jungle gym! Whoohooo!

Let it not be said that I didn’t have a couple of hairy (or is that furry?) moments – especially when one made it quite clear my car was his car. I mean, I don’t mind sharing, but I have my limits.

Okay, so it's not a new model, but it will do, he says to himself.

“Sod off, you hairy beast!” I barked, wondering if he was going to rip my windscreen wipers from their hinges.

“Ya talkin’ ta me?” He gave me a challenging look.

Stroppy Teen - "Ya lookin' at me?"

“Oh yeah, I’m talkin’ to you. Bog off!”

“ARF!” he bellowed and eyeballing me, lunged.

My mistake, never ever make contact with a baboon. It brings out the worst in them.

Hmm, time to retreat or confront?

“Ha!” I snapped with more fervour than I felt and turned my back on the little blighter.

I tried to phone D, thinking I may be in need of rescue, but he’d gone to sleep with the phone in silent mode – so much for my Prince Charming and his white steed.

Ultimately I found the best approach was to wander off – trying not to trip over the two youngsters who went tearing around my legs. And so, ignoring the chap muttering “what’s yours is mine” I took my shots of the vineyards – albeit with slightly trembling hands.

If I get on with taking photos perhaps he'll leave my car alone...

Snotty Teen eventually got bored, they always do, and I took the gap, rescued my car and left them to it.

A small baboon token left on my car - I call it "Baboon Art"...

The Noblesse Oblige Award - and why I blog... and some bees...

It’s award time again and this one seems a little different – requires some thought. Which means a bit of effort for those of us who are fighting with travel arrangements and other such related bureaucracy, and trying to forge ahead with a story that feels like it’s lost its way. Actually, the story hasn’t lost its way, but the writer has, temporarily, at least.

Face to face with a bee...

But on and on.

So here’s the Noblesse Oblige Award, given to me by Val from Monkeys on the Roof who weaves magic with her words about the African bushveld. Thank you, Val – now just get out there and write that book, girl – it will be something truly special, I know!


As Val said on her blog, this feels like a particularly special award – in that it makes you think about why you’re blogging.

The blurb accompanying the blog says:

The recipient of this award is recognized for the following: 1) The Blogger manifests exemplary attitude, respecting the nuances that pervades amongst different cultures and beliefs. 2) The Blog contents inspire; strives to encourage, and offers solutions. 3) There is a clear purpose at the Blog; one that fosters a better understanding on Social, Political, Economic, the Arts, Culture, Sciences, and Beliefs. 4) The Blog is refreshing and creative. 5) The Blogger promotes friendship and positive thinking.

The Blogger who receives this award will need to perform the following steps: 1) Create a Post with a mention and link to the person who presented the Noblesse Oblige Award. 2) The Award Conditions must be displayed at the Post. 3) Write a short article about what the Blog has thus far achieved – preferably citing one or more older posts to support. 4) The Blogger must present the Noblesse Oblige Award in concurrence with the Award conditions. 5) Blogger must display the Award at any location at the Blog.

Feasting bee...

I have to say, I’ve never thought of my blog doing the things listed above, mostly, I guess, because I first started blogging as a bit of a laugh with Atyllah the Hen, a fictional alien Chicken with Attitude. Let’s face it, as far as Atyllah was concerned, nothing was sacred and everything humanly was worthy of a potshot and a sideswipe. The blog, I know, ultimately offended several people as Atyllah called a spade a particularly blunt shovel. Still, I like to think that perhaps the old bird made people sit up and think about things more than once. She had, and still has, her place. Be warned.

Upside down bee...

By the time I moved on to blogging as Vanilla, I was tired of “being someone else” as it were and wanted to be able to blog more as myself, multifaceted beast that I am – I wanted a place to be able to express thoughts, opinions, share photography and artwork and just generally “witter and warble”. I will also admit that blogging has been something of an experiment in social networking and “marketing”. As an ex-marketing sort and a writer I was curious to see what sort of exposure a blog could provide and how one had to work it to gain maximum reach. I’ll tell you this much for nothing - a blog is bloody hard work and is, I often think, nearly unsustainable!

As to what the blog has achieved thus far – well, it has led me to “meet” some interesting people from far and wide – and that tells me that we’re far more connected and at one than we ever were – and that, I believe, is a huge and important step forward for humanity. The more the people of the world connect, the more we realise we are more the same than we are different, the more chance we have of creating a global harmony and oneness.

Drilling bee...

As for what else the blog has achieved – I tell you what – why don’t you tell me what you think it’s achieved – share your thoughts with me so I can know how the blog impacts upon you – if it indeed does.

I’m not going to cite old posts, there are really too many I could point you to – my personal experiences of nearly dying, experiences of xenophobia in South Africa, my recent posts on the elections in SA, short stories that I’ve written, photographs that I've taken in the African bush and on foreign shores – the blog takes no particular form and was never meant to.

And as with all awards, I presume I’m meant to pass this on. If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know my thoughts on that. I believe that every blog I read offers something of value, something that inspires or encourages – be it a predominantly photographic blog, a blog of ramblings, a blog about writing, a humourous blog. I don’t believe that anyone I blog with doesn’t in some way, great or small, promote a better understanding on a social, political, economic, arts, culture, sciences or belief level.

Honey bee...

So, when I say I award the Noblesse Oblige Award to you – yep, that’s you reading this blog, right now, this very minute - then I truly and deeply mean it from the bottom of my heart (not the heart of my bottom…). So this award goes to you – and that means I want to see it posted on your blog and I want to see you writing a Noblesse Oblige post. All good children will get a gold star (or not…).

But yes, the award goes to you. Yes, I do mean, you, oh doubter (you know who you are, you think because I’ve not mentioned your name I don’t mean YOU – well I do!) So, yes, you.

And a bug...