So now you know I am a great fan of Pilates, obviously not a very results driven one, though the eternal optimist in me lives in hope. I do however qualify for the "Dedication Award" at our annual awards ceremony. Not to be scoffed at, this is a very serious occasion as the prestigious awards are not easily gained, though I do suspect that at times a bit of bribery has been involved. The knives start coming out early in spring, shortly after they have finally been returned to their sheaths after the girls (and guys) have recovered from the Deep Disappointments of last year's ceremony. Now, I'm really not the type of gal to rat on my Pilates pals, but if you think the weeping and wailing at the Oscars is dramatic, you ain't seen nothing yet when the New Queen of Pilates receives her maroon satin sash. And as for lucky Mr Pilates, he has the gals flinging themselves at him for the duration of his reign. There is a lot of joshing and preparing for the big night, and some rather sinister comments have also been thrown. It may cheer you to know that in her heyday, Suzy Q was thrice crowned Queen of Pilates (yes, lucky packet crowns with flashing lights nogal during my unrivalled reign). Sadly, for some of her former friends and rivals, this proved far too threatening and she feared reprisals and stilettos in the back whilst doing her weekly shop. So, it's just the slow and steady award these days for Suzy Q, as she sips her bubbly through a mist of nostalgic tears in a converted garage/studio in the burbs, watching the dewy eyed newcomers break down and cry on the big night (and that's nothing compared to the wannabes!)
All this to say say that come hell or high water, I seldom miss a class. So when my car was in the knock shop to iron out a few teen inflicted dents and scrapes, I opted to walk to class. It takes me seven to eight minutes to skid in by car, so I reckoned that a half hour walk should comfortably get me there. "No no," implored Miss Suzy Q No 1, who is spending a few days at home before starting at UCT, "it's too far, it's only one class, I'm sure your award is safe, extenuating circumstances and all that (she's clearly getting into the zone for Law school), not to mention you'll be mugged outside Pollsmoor Prison. It's really not safe out there, Mom!" My Pilates instructress, an ex prima donna from the local ballets corps, who never misses an opportunity to strut her stuff under the spotlight, and is still doing the most amazing high kicks and leaps despite rapidly approaching 50 (heavens I hope she never reads this, as she'll kill me off either in person or on the mat for letting that cat out the bag) would NEVER accept a lame excuse like being carless for missing class.
So I strode off, armed with a water bottle, stout walking stick, pepper spray, and for a really serious attack my trusty porcupine quill. (Stab 'em straight through the heart, jiggle around to slice the aorta till it looks like a spaghetti junction, remove weapon, no entry wound to be found and voila, attacker sorted.) Don't say I haven't learnt a useful trick or two in my time. Stick with me kids, no end to what you might learn from this blog. Despite being a keen and fairly fit walker, it took me a good 35 minutes to reach my destination, and I was just a little puffed out. Yes, I made it safely past Pollsmoor, where the gangsters were exiting en route for the courts and were mercifully safely behind the bars of the police truck, not to say I didn't get a wolf whistle or two. See, Suzy Q's not quite past her prime just yet!
Whilst I was hailed as both a madwoman and a suburban heroine on arrival, it gave me cause for thought. I do that route as such a routine drive because it is so easy for me to hop into my little car, yet I passed many, many men and women also on foot, heading from their taxi drop off points towards the houses in the area where they clean, look after children and tend gardens, all smiling and chatting away as this is the normal daily routine for them. I doubt very much that they are hailed as heroic or crazy. They also seemed much more friendly than the local women whom I pass on a daily basis when out walking Rex round our very pleasant neighbourhood, who barely manage a grimace, let alone a greeting, though they have so much more for which to be thankful.
Time to give thanks for all the good things and friends and family we have and smile more girls, we definitely don't want to end up looking like those horrible harridans! And if that's what skinny does for the soul, well, I think I'll just relax and be happy...
Your,
Suzy Q
Not wishing to worry you, but Suzy Q has experienced two heart stopping moments lately. As you might have gathered, I have been attempting to temper my wine drinking habits as part of this fresh new year, not forgetting the little wedding dress revival in mind, so have been keeping stocks pretty low to keep temptation at bay. However, come Sunday, and with an esteemed foreign arrival for lunch, fresh off the plane, I opened the wine fridge over optimistically, to discover, quelle horreur, no white wine! Now how on earth could such a crisis have occurred? Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink. Our rules still harken back to the Dark Ages here, making it impossible to purchase alcohol on the Day of the Sabbath (even though you can go to the movies or shop at Woollies on Christmas Day.) Never fear, I have my own local little secret source for Sunday emergencies, and hotfooted it to the Steenberg Winery, who have a sensible approach to wine sales. The place was hopping, so I didn't feel too bad, until I ran my eye down the list and discovered, more quelle horreur, that my favourite tipple, the Klein Steenberg 2011 Sauvignon Blanc was SOLD OUT. "Alas and alack," I cried, "did you make too little or did we drink too much?"
There were no answers or solutions to my deep and probing questions, save to say, that when something as precious, or limited as vintage wine, friendship, trust, health, laughter, love or life has run out, there's no getting it back, sad to say.
So with that in mind, forgetting that we are all a little fatigued from having too many things on the go at the mo, I rolled over in bed this morning at first light, thinking how lovely it would be to stay in for a snuggle. Then I thought, "summer doesn't last forever, we'll have a long wet, winter when we won't be able to dash off to St James to swim, one day my limbs might not be working as well as today," so I nudged Mr Suzy Q awake. We were dubious as we headed off in that direction as it was chilly and a bit breezy, but the tidal pool was fantastic and our stout efforts were richly rewarded. Waves were breaking so thick and fast over the wall that it was like swimming in the open surf, the water was warm and frothy, and it was a joy to see my beloved's smiling face bobbing in the waves as I battled the current. I'm so glad we didn't miss the opportunity to have such a refreshing start to our day.
Love,
Suzy Q
A large part of being the parent of a teenager is that of being a full time, ready at the drop of a hat, taxi driver. I hope I don't complain about this too much, as I am grateful for the opportunity to drive my darling daughters anywhere, anytime, in a safe and sober fashion, rather than risk their safety. It does, however, place serious limitations on my own life, but I guess it keeps me drinking tea when I'd far rather be having a glass or two of vino. Quite a good few of my eldest daughters friends received cars for their eighteenth birthdays, so much so that the school can not accomadate them all in the parking area. Such a different world from the one I grew up in. Driving lessons and cars were so far removed from reality or even wild hope when I wrote matric, that they were not even a remote consideration, and even in university there was only one second year student who had her own car, and that was, "like, amazing!"
Anyway, we had my daughter's friends over to get ready for a night out, and you could hear them down the street, laughing and chatting while they glammed up. "He did WHAT!?" "Nooo way, what did she say?" "Never ever!!" " He asked me if I would like, kiss him under the mistletoe. I told him I wouldn't kiss him even if I was under an anaesthetic." "You're so hilaaaarious!" Shrieks of pre - party delight out the window and into the night.
They now favour the club scene in town (I know, I know, I said they'd never be allowed to go to these dives, but Miss Suzy Q No 1 broke the ice and now I just go with the flow!) The really cool places are, naturally, in the seediest part of the city. Bad enough to see them in the dark, I'd hate to see what they look like by the light of day. They exist in a rat warren of one way streets, and as we cruise by, drunken car guards fall like leaves almost under the wheels of my car. It's a hairy experience to say the least, and then I am left sitting alone, watching my baby disappear down a dark alley, wondering if I'm ever going to see her again. Bouncers take on super status in this dark and dingy underworld, and I have to wait with my engine idling, looking nervously around me, to see if one of Miss Suzy Q No 2's underage buddies doesn't get bounced. All this to hang out and listen to cool music and meet the boys. Well, what can I say, nothing's really changed much, I guess, only that I had to hitch hike wherever I wanted to go, day or night, but that was another place and another time, which I have ensured my daughters never have to inhabit.
I'm a stickler for having perfect directions, to avoid getting lost in these insalubrious surrounding, so my girls are well trained and give me a map in good time before we go. Having now acquainted myself with the most popular haunt, I was all set to go, when my daughter's buddy informed me that they were in fact meeting at a club, which was "like, one block up" from where I had envisaged us going. "Are you absolutely sure it's right next door, in the same street?" I asked innocently, as I had my route mentally planned already. Affirmative. So as we cruised past the club I now knew, and then, up a block, then two, to find ourselves back on the main drag without finding said new club, my blood pressure started to rise. "No, you went the wrong way," the stupid child had the cheek to say. "Ok," I say through gritted teeth, as I can hear my daughter's heart pumping madly from the back seat, "can you please tell me exactly how to get to this place, bearing in mind we are now back on the highway?" "It's like down there, here, left, no right, there it is, no it's not," she asserts, as I pull up in desperation to ask the most inebriated car guard of them all if he perhaps knows where we should go. And so it goes. Finally, keeping my temper barely in check, and getting ready to head for home, we turn down yet another one way street, at least three blocks from our original venue, and she cries triumphantly, "there it is, I told you it was like down this road, you just like went the wrong way!"
She got out of the car just in time, and there definitely won't be a next time...!!
Kinda grumpy,
Suzy Q
