The Gautrain

Because I'm a closet geek I have created a Twitter account and I must say I'm having lots of fun with it - there are some very clever people there I would never have met without it.

On Saturday morning I joined a group of 200 tweeters on a tour of the Gautrain in Midrand. After getting almost hopelessly lost following Walter's directions (and my GPS, Bob, was sulking) I finally got there 20 minutes late. I'm extremely thankful I didn't just give up and go home because the surprise of the day was a trip on the Gautrain to Marlboro station.

 It's a very pretty train - and it's also very fast. We reached 160km/h on our trip to Marlboro station

 The station still needs some work but all the workers were quite excited to see a train full of people and waved at us cheerily as we pulled in.

The view from the train heading back to Midrand from Marlboro station. Who would wilfully sit in the traffic on the M1 with this as an alternative?

The big screen in the station showing all the tweets being sent live as the presentation was made

Although I'm not really a rah-rah socialising type I will admit to having enjoyed this and I'd urge everyone who can to take a trip on the train once it's officially launched.

Sunday morning

I am sitting in the boma in the garden on a perfect morning watching the bulbuls eating left over pawpaw, surrounded by the detritus of Scientist #2's birthday bash. There are bodies strewn around the lounge, the study, the TV room and his bedroom, and I know that when they eventually emerge there will be some sore heads to be dealt with. The dogs also look a little worse for wear - and guilty too - I know exactly who's responsible for the scattered pizza boxes, McDonald's packets and chewed up polystyrene cups.

The 18 year-old turns 19 today

I can't believe it - the time has truly flown by. He shall hereinafter be referred to as Scientist #2 given his penchant for physics and other things beyond my understanding.
An old soul who I've been priveleged to know, hope you have an awesome day my boy

Visualists

So I'm not really visual, I can't remember what you wore yesterday and if I lost a child in a shopping centre I would have trouble describing their clothes. I once did a test at the MTN Science Centre in Cape Town (well worth visiting if you have small children) and the computer thought long and hard before deciding to score me as audio-visual. Apparently this is very unusual.

When someone says red I see R-E-D, not the colour, and the most common response to my ideas in brainstorming sessions is "Where did THAT come from?" I can't tell the difference between all the blues and purples that have funky names but I can read a map properly. I get into a cold sweat when the scientist asks me "which blouse? this one (runs out of room, returning with what appears to be the same one) or this one?"

I'm not sure how it came about, it may have something to do with going to 13 different schools in 3 different countries, something I also blame for my (ahem) problem with numbers. Slippery little suckers in my opinion. The upside of this approach to education is that none of the systems had me in their grip long enough to find the relevant box or label for me. It also meant I had to find new ways to cope with new situations very quickly - something that's stood me in good stead ever since. Vive la difference.

Morning walks with my grandmother

All of a sudden it's March. Days are shorter and the evenings quite chilly now. I know this because I wake up 30 minutes before sunrise and I now have to set the alarm to get to the morning walk on time. The morning walk is a ritual I follow with my grandmother, I drive to her house and we set off together on our regular route, armed with water bottles and loads of attitude.
I should mention that she's not really my grandmother - but a slightly older friend who I've known for years and work with. As someone bossier than I am she has earned the right to be referred to with the respect most cultures show their elders. Also she has a good sense of humour so indulges my teasing with a great deal of patience. 
From time to time we talk about measuring the distance we walk, it seems like the right thing to do in this age of precise information and goals. We have yet to do it; somehow it's not about the distance or the speed, but about the conversation, the quiet, the blesbok and dassies at the local nature reserve, the birds, wild flowers and the sunrise. We always laugh a lot, we discuss work and our families, we greet other walkers and wave at total strangers who have become so accustomed to seeing us deep in conversation that they hoot and wave as they drive past. 
Once she brought a step counter and we set off with renewed energy - this time we'd know exactly how far we walk. Turned out the batteries were dead so it's still a mystery. 
Last week as we were walking down the last-but-one road, greeting the schnauzer that barks his good morning to us every day, I caught a glimpse of a very big bird taking off from one of the trees overhanging the road. I touched her arm and we both stopped to watch - it was a large eagle, wingspan as big as I am tall, furry legs, one-barred tail - silently lifting into the morning air. To see this, in suburbia, seems to be reason enough to walk. Up on the main road the traffic-weary people rushing to work early miss this, they are caught up in the incredible importance of getting "there" while we are here, now, contemplating the moment.

The Burmese are finally introduced

I have an interesting approach to filing, there is no logical dependable system. Oh at the time it seems rational enough, I'll file my cellphone account under Telephones for example. Yesterday I received a text message from my cellphone service provider saying they had duplicated charges during November and December. I remember thinking that it seemed high at the time and assumed it was the new applications I'd installed to download email and do a few other online things. I immediately uninstalled the applications and filed a mental note to trawl the technology sites to see if they had uncovered some devious new billing systems. The text message urges subscribers to audit their accounts to establish if they have been overcharged. I dutifully started the search for the account. No, not under T for Telephone, C for Cellphone, M for Mobile or T for Tax. It shall have to wait until the rationale of the filing moment returns. What I did find, however, was the file with the cat pictures - which reminded me that the Burmese had not yet been introduced. That, plus a midnight message from the border collie explaining why the video upload function was not working on the blog posts.

Burmese cats are perfect for people who aren't essentially cat people. They are generally warm and affectionate without the neediness of dogs. These two follow us around the garden and "call" us when they can't find us. If we are upstairs and they wake up from a nap they will come and find us, their voices becoming more strident as they move through the house. They sorted out our rat problem in a couple of days, even getting the wily old rat who regularly sacrificed young rats to the rat trap (I tell you what, you get that piece of food off that thing for grandpa and I'll share it with you, there's a good boy)

So meet the other kitties, the sisters Storm and Milkshake

This is when they first came to live with us, 8 years ago. It was quite a procedure to get them - involving personal interviews and a lot of money. We only wanted one, but when I caught Storm lapping up the introductory glass of wine I had to have her too.
Their papers show them to be of the highest pedigree, Milkshake (at the back) is a Chocolate Tortie-point Burmese and Storm is a Blue Tortie-Point Burmese. They come from a long, distinguished line of Best of Breed winners, a fact that doesn't impress Ming-Li in the least.
They are sisters (no, I don't know how that's possible - I shall check with the Scientist, perhaps it like eye colour?) and almost always cuddle like this. Useless fact of the day? All Tortoiseshell cats are females. Like common sense it is a gene exclusive to females.
We were only allowed to take them home when they reached six months, the breeder believed they needed some basic maturity before they left her safe environment. At the time I remember thinking that hospitals should consider this for human babies too.
Milkshake is never really called by that name unless she's in trouble - much like using all the given names of a child who hasn't picked up their clothes. We prefer Mongoose, Goose, Mongs or Meeslet. Given that she's a cat she is quite comfortable with this - not something you could do with a dog, obviously.

When we don't want her to know that we are talking about her we refer to her as the Ethiopian Hunting Cat. She is also an undercover cat. By that I mean that she sleeps under the duvet, tucked in next to me with her little chin on my arm. If I move she simply unsheathes a claw or two into the soft flesh there - works like a charm for her.

Storm, on the other hand, is not an undercover cat, scrabbling frantically to get out if we try and put her under the duvet. For the first couple of months when she came to live with us she slept on a pillow between us but now she and Ming-Li have an agreement about the real estate at the foot of the bed.

Storm is not this svelte anymore, her strategy is world-domination which requires her to eat all the food in the house in an attempt to get the other cats to leave.

Here she is with Ming-Li in her best position...totally relaxed

Upstairs
Storm is adventurous, she once disappeared for 10 days - causing us huge distress and returning in the middle of the night much slimmer than she was when she left. She may have been at a spa to lose weight, but we were all immensely grateful that she came back. Personally, I blame the dogs, they have issues with Storm. She has been known to bat them with a paw if they venture inside, and she loves to sit on the windowsill swearing at them, all cats believe dogs are beneath them.
The Burmese don't do tricks, there will be no videos of them rolling over, unfortunately. Storm does, however, have an invisible friend who she sometimes breakdances with. She also lurks in doorways so that she can leap out at Ming-Li and chase her down the passage. The Burmese are not elegant either, and if they try and walk across the dressing table in the dark I know it's them because they knock everything off.
We love them all, each with their own individual personality. Ming-Li, Storm and Milkshake have also taught Walter and I how to sleep in the "pretzel" position so that they can stretch out comfortably on the bed at night.