Waiting, waiting


My son has his workshop in my garage. I usually take him some coffee or have a chat with him while working. Trompie always goes with me. At times I’ll go in on my own.

Trompie waits patiently for me.

Sits and wait
WAit and
Still waiting!
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Pampoen – Steve Hofmeyer


Ek verlang na my liefste se skouer om net n oomblik gekoester te word.

https://www.flashlyrics.com/lyrics/steve-hofmeyr/pampoen-97

Sing, sing jou woorde teen my vas
Bring, jou hele lewe in ‘n tas
Vat ‘n trein na Bloemfontein
En die 506 na Petrus Steyn
En as jy wil, vat daar ‘n bicycle
Volg, volg die grondpad teen die bult
Hol, oor die velde as jy wil
Hier wag ek die jare om
Vir ‘n stofwolk op die horison
Of iets soortgelyk, wat soos jy lyk

KOOR
Ek’t nog ‘n vrot pampoen en ‘n stukkende skoen
En ‘n trekker wat se tyres lek
Vir alles wat ek aan jou gedoen het
Kom jy by my intrek
Ek’t nog ‘n vrot pampoen en ‘n stukkende skoen
En ‘n plaas wat ek afbetaal
Vir alles wat ek aan jou gedoen het
Kom jy om my te haal
Stuur, stuur my liefde vir jou ma
Maar, as jy kom los haar net daar
Want hier’s net plek vir drie van ons
dis ek en jy en ‘n af-oor hond
Sy naam is Roof, maar hy’s al jare doof
Bring, bring daai goedjies wat jou pla
En ek, maak ‘n ring van ogies draad
Ek spaar nog vir die diamant
En ‘n donkiekar vir die predikant
Ek sal moet blomme leen, tot dit eendag reen….

KOOR

Woorde & Musiek: Steve Hofmeyr

NaNoWriMO: I did it. Ek het dit gedoen.


Congratulations, winner!

You are a writer with a love for stories. You are an explorer of creative universes. You are a hero with the superpower of imagination. You are the beating heart of NaNoWriMo, and we’re so proud to write with you and doubly proud of your incredible accomplishment.

Congratulations, Writer! You wear the title well.

2018 Winner Certificate

 

Bringing back sweet memories


Don Williams was never my favourite but his songs bring back nostalgic memories from days of being in love with my husband before we got married and during the first years after our marriage.

 

 

 

 

Coffee black, cigarettes
Start this day, like all the rest
First thing every morning that I do
Is start missing you

Some broken hearts never mend
Some memories never end
Some tears will never dry
My love for you will never die

Rendezvous in the night
A willing woman to hold me tight
But in the middle of love’s embrace
I see your face

Some broken hearts never mend
Some memories never end
Some tears will never dry
My love for you will never die

 

Bea visits Ouma!


Bea visited me this morning. It was the first time since they moved out of this house. She still could not really walk around when they moved. Today she first walked with her mum, to see the cows across the road.

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She came inside and had a look outside on the deck while her parents looked around.

Time to go home and she did not really want to go. She went back, going up the three steps, onto the deck and then jumping off into Daddies’ arms.

Baby Talk: Two days of babysitting.


Ouma, I had a lovely time this week-end!

Saturday.

Watching TV

Handling my bag!

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Sunday.

Colouring in.

Picking flowers in the wet garden.

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Sooooo tired after a busy morning.

Memoirs: Teaching Snippets


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Forty years of teaching experience gives me a lot to reminisce about school, children, parents, teaching and teachers.

I was never cut out to be a teacher. Never liked teaching much too. But I, as a dedicated person, learned to give my best while working with children.

The best of my teaching time was when I taught English second language, history and technology at High School Secunda. I had year eight, nine and ten. Teenagers are difficult years. I usually had the average and below average students classes. The lessons had to be as colourful and well planned as could be so that they could participate naturally.

Those eight years at high school were trying years in South Africa. Secunda with  Sasol II and III was a danger zone for bomb attacks. The year twelve boys had to protect the school and patrolled the verandas around the classrooms. Guns were ready in the vault for in case. We also had regularly emergency evacuations.

We, as teachers, also trained to use a firearm. We had shooting exercises to make sure that we were prepared. We had to use our firearm for protection. It’s a big responsibility to protect children and keep them safe.

I usually had the slower children in my register class. Most of the time I had to be a mother, father and friend to these troubled children.

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One year I had a girls class. One of the girls was sent to a reform school. Her home environment was terrible. She was a real rebel and using drugs. I filled reports and forms on her behaviour which was a huge task. I know that she was rehabilitated at the end and wrote her matric. I was glad that she did well. The worst was that, the first day she was free to face life outside the school, a car killed her while crossing the street.

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Another year I had a boys class. They were a handful a real rough bunch. However, we playfully tackled the day’s work. There were twins, both in the same class. They were ten brothers and sisters, all equally rough. They were, however, a close family and well-mannered. After a year out of school, I met one of the twins at the shops. He was so happy to see me. His first words: “I was released from prison yesterday.I’m never going to lose my temper again.I want to be a good father to my child and husband to my wife.” It is sad that children who are inner good, land in situations that get out of control. Another boy one day shouted from the back of the room: “I won’t take out my book.”  I took him to the principal who gave him a proper reprimand. In the end, he was a grateful child who passed his year. He realised he had to do his work to achieve something. He bought me a coke and thanked me for helping him to stay on the right path. These small tokens of appreciation of educating children made it worth the while. I mostly had to do a lot of incentives work to convince them that, with hard work and pressure, life is worth it.

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These are a few snippets from my teaching journey.