The Tale Of The Potent Brownie

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

If you have grown children with a sense of danger, humour and me as a Mom… this delight may await you.

BTW, calling your kids assholes can be a term of endearment. #wink

I am NOT impersonating a vlogger. I don’t have the skills for that. This was totally just me telling a story!

Click here :

The Tale Of The Potent Brownie

I wish you enough,




The silence that is me.

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

“…and, for that little while,
the darkness was kind.”
~ Stephen King

The past year has been filled with contradiction. Life changing decisions which lead me to feelings of elation, dread, hope, happiness and despair.

Perhaps that is life. Not being stagnant is positive. Change is the one thing we can count on. How we deal with change is the game changer I’m told.

Right now I’m dealing with my blue eyed wonder, Liam James having relocated permanently to the UK. Anyone who knows our story, know that a chunk of my identity and heart got on that plane. I am very happy for my boy. I want him to do things I never did, see places I’ve never been. It is however painful to not have him with me.

I was ill for over four weeks with a crazy case of bronchitis and for the first time in my life, fainting. Ovet-rated for sure. Three antibiotics, wheezing and feeling unsteady on my feet. For weeks. We really should place more emphasis on celebrating our health.

I could not meet my media obligations. I feel like a failure. I’m behind in my writing course, my reviews and attending events was impossible. I don’t like doing the bare minimum just so that “something” was done.

I also realised that I over complicate writing, as well as blogging. I want it to be my idea of perfect. I read other blogs and I feel dissapointed. It seems simplistic. I expect more. There is nothing wrong with their posts, but I always expect it to extraordinary. I’m being unfair. Stop the search for perfect. Just be dammit. Just enjoy things for what they are.

I decided to return to basics. Write. Come on Wenchy. Just be you. Write for you. Even when it isn’t perfect….. because darling you are far from perfect. Writers write, so WRITE!

It is 4h36am. I’m going to post this because my friends miss me just writing about every day kinda stuff, and me being just being me… and writing is one of the few ways I know will assist me with the murky waters of the taunting depression I feel lurking.

I wish you enough,


Closing Circles

The Nocturnal Wenchy

One always has to know when a stage comes to an end. If we insist on staying longer than the necessary time, we lose the happiness and the meaning of the other stages we have to go through.

Closing cycles, shutting doors, ending chapters – whatever name we give it, what matters is to leave in the past the moments of life that have finished.

Did you lose your job? Has a loving relationship come to an end? Did you leave your parents’ house? Gone to live abroad? Has a long-lasting friendship ended all of a sudden?

You can spend a long time wondering why this has happened.

You can tell yourself you won’t take another step until you find out why certain things that were so important and so solid in your life have turned into dust, just like that.

But such an attitude will be awfully stressing for everyone involved: your parents, your husband or wife, your friends, your children, your sister.

Everyone is finishing chapters, turning over new leaves, getting on with life, and they will all feel bad seeing you at a standstill.

Things pass, and the best we can do is to let them really go away. That is why it is so important (however painful it may be!) to destroy souvenirs, move, give lots of things away to orphanages, sell or donate the books you have at home.

Everything in this visible world is a manifestation of the invisible world, of what is going on in our hearts – and getting rid of certain memories also means making some room for other memories to take their place.

Let things go. Release them. Detach yourself from them.

Nobody plays this life with marked cards, so sometimes we win and sometimes we lose.

Do not expect anything in return, do not expect your efforts to be appreciated, your genius to be discovered, your love to be understood.

Stop turning on your emotional television to watch the same program over and over again, the one that shows how much you suffered from a certain loss: that is only poisoning you, nothing else.

Nothing is more dangerous than not accepting love relationships that are broken off, work that is promised but there is no starting date, decisions that are always put off waiting for the “ideal moment.”

Before a new chapter is begun, the old one has to be finished: tell yourself that what has passed will never come back.

Remember that there was a time when you could live without that thing or that person – nothing is irreplaceable, a habit is not a need.

This may sound so obvious, it may even be difficult, but it is very important.

Closing cycles. Not because of pride, incapacity or arrogance, but simply because that no longer fits your life.

Shut the door, change the record, clean the house, shake off the dust.

Stop being who you were, and change into who you are.

– Paulo Coelho

Spur – A taste for my throbbing ovaries. 🦒

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

Something very few people know is that @SirNoid and I have been considering having the vasectomy (I insisted on seven years ago – again… what is with the seven that keeps popping up in my life?), reversed.

Playing the role of the supportive husband, @SirNoid said if you can go three months with not a single doubt, we can investigate having another child.

Well, tonight my husband is at a gala dinner and I decided I shall go to Spur for supper by my own self. Not just any Spur mind you. The Palomino Spur at Sun City! Go big or go back to your fine dining experiences Wench.

When my kids were younger (25 YEARS ago!) it was their favourite hang out. This visit should seize my ovaries and induce menopause, or have me arranging reveal parties as there were no Pinterest when I was vomiting and having severe heartburn.

I asked to be seated in a booth towards the back so I can observe. I did not ask to seated near the children play area as my memory is not that poor.

It wasn’t long before a birthday song was sung. Not a proper song. Plenty clapping and few lyrics. I don’t like that.

With great excitement, I spot a Strawberry Daiquiri on the menu. Must be a pre-mix-job I decide, but order it anyway. After it arrived, I asked for a glass of crushed ice to try to revive it. It works enough for me to feel a small kick. Small, but I’ll take it. Don’t order this if it is your signature drink. You won’t be living your best life.

I’ve not seen the steak with prawns and cheese on the menu before, so I order that. I think there may have been garlic involved. With vegetables. I’ve been ill. My body needs butternut and spinach.

The steak was done as I asked (rare) and the prawns and cheese topping was not bad either. The garlic lingered as it should. Vegetables were good, I love the onion rings but the chips were a little sad. Main meal was a win then?

Another birthday clap. The birthday kid gives a loud cry. Hates ageing that kid does.

There are two men sitting behind me. Swearing in Afrikaans. They speak as if all the woman of the world is lining up to give them a bit of that. I picture what they look like in my head. Eventually, I turn around to see what these sex gods look like… Congratulate me again on never having sex in Afrikaans. I’m clearly a winner. Ugh.

The waitress has been fabulous. I always ask for water with ice and more often than not it is forgotten. She kept it coming. I may love her.

I order Peppermint Crisp tart with ice cream because it reminds me of my son Liam James… and I’m a sentimental sod. Oh and a Cappuccino.

Good job on dessert. Truly. It had that homemade touch to it and tasted lovely. The Cappuccino was okay.

As closing time approaches, the now overtired parents and sleeping children have left. Thankfully so has the wanna-be sex gods.

The staff starts cleaning up around me. Loudly in voice and mop action. That annoys me.

There is a man loudly discussing breast milk, and I quote “warm from the nipple”, I kid you not, at the Spur counter where I am supposed to exit the restaurant. It appears this man is waiting for one of the staff members. He spoiled my nostalgia for sure.

Spur served a much better meal than I expected. Yay! I do wish they would go back to singing “Happy birthday!” without the clap. The ambience was family orientated as expected, the music was toned down and my waitress, Blessing, was just that! Outstanding. Attentive, friendly and knowledgeable. I did tell her that she was lovely and tipped accordingly.

I spoke to the Manager, Dumisani about the breast, nipple braai fire talk and that perhaps friends waiting for staff to finish their shift should do so silently or elsewhere. He apologised and thanked me for bringing it to his attention. I felt heard. His eyes when I said the word nipple confirmed it. Thank you, Sir.

As for my ovaries, rejoice beloved. I don’t think I will be out this late at night by myself, in a town other than where I live, doing a review with a babe in arms! Besides, a clap for my birthday child won’t do.

I wish you enough,

#MamaWench 🦒


Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

I needed to renew a repeat script for Cymgen. A kick ass medication prescribed at my Fibromyalgia diagnosis in 2011.

I’m not always sure what the medication does. Where chronic illness ends and Wenchy starts. I’m very certain of what happens when I do not take my medication!

Even with the best medication, pain still creeps over my body rendering me powerless and incapacitated to deal with simple tasks at times. It steals time and experiences from me. I hate it.

People do not understand. I look fine. Actually I’m fabulous. I have no limbs missing, no open wound to sympathise with. My smile lights up the room I’m told. Sunbeam I am dammit.

I feel a smouldering anger at this faceless attacker. Cowardly, powerful asshole this nonsense is. There is nothing and nobody to direct these feelings to. Acceptance is not mine.

I can tell you that stopping this schedule five drug leaves my brain zapping as if searching for flickering connection. It is an awful feeling. My brain shaking inside my skull.

My skin crawls with anxiety, my breathing becomes shallow and I’m pretty certain others experience my behaviour as a drug addict needing a fix. It would be a pretty accurate observation.

I dropped my local GP an email who usually replies with my repeat script for the next six months.

Instead, I receive an email informing me that he would like confirmation of my illness before providing a script.

I tried to remain calm. A confirmation of my Fibromyalgia diagnosis, Generalized Anxiety Disorder or my ever popular Bipolar status? Just the one or all of the above?

Cymgen I’ve been told covers it all to a certain extend, as well as some of the physical pain.

Yes there are other medication I take as and when the need arises. Xanor is my lifeline for anxiety. I’m prescribed Synaleve and Tramahexal for pain. Neither deliver and I often find myself returning to simple Paracetamol and Ibuprofen.

I phone the doctors rooms. Phone calls usually numb me with fear, but when fueled by withdrawal all things become possible. My brain is zapping, hear me roar.

My tone is agitated. I explain that for the past two years the doctor has had no issue providing me with a script. Saving me the cost of seeing my Specialist Rheumatologist and mental health practitioner that all comes with a very special price. A price I cannot afford.

The doctor persists. A confirmation of my illness is required. I allow my Bipolar self free reign.

I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Manic Depression, later to be called Bipolar, at fourteen years of age. I do not remember the doctors name. I was 14. I’m 44 now. The doctor is probably dead. Where would you like me to find confirmation?

The Fibromyalgia is easier. I’m sure the Specialist Rheumatologist would be delighted to discuss my case at a small fee.

I explain that I had not realised it was my last script. I’m four days into withdrawal and I’m not a fucking delight.

The doctor is determined. Apparently it would be unethical to give me the script. A small unmedicated laugh escape my body.

So after two years you have developed an ethical bone in your body? It took you two years to figure out my schedule 5 drug is habit forming? Seriously?

My anger almost results in me resorting to making appropriate accents belonging in local sitcoms.

Now… my son Kev (love that child) gifted me access to Netflix. I have quickly adapted it to #NetflixAndChill. It sounds very urban hip to me. I feel so grown up.

My beloved and very composed 18 year old daughter, Victoria immediately told me #NetflixAndChill has a sexual connotation and could I please stop saying it. “Mom… MOM!”

No. I’m not. It makes me feel very chill and rolls off my tongue. #NetflixAndChill for everyone!

The other day I was all #NetflixAndChill watching a documentary on female killers as one honestly should when you are slightly demented.

This very lovely lady somewhere in the land of the free killed her mother while going through withdrawal from an antidepressant much milder than Cymgen, in my informed opinion.

Least we forget that I’ve been experimented on since I was 14 with new drugs as they were developed. Xanor is clearly a winner as that hasn’t changed and no, the thought if being addicted to this medication does not bother me an inch.

Two things I don’t want to feel. Anxiety and physical pain.

Having #NetflixAndChill-ed my way through female killers in withdrawal, I felt great sympathy for said killer.

Okay… killing people is not cool. Orange will never be the new black with purple hair but I totally understand how your brain zapping and allowing an anxious person to become alot more focus on you, could get your ass #NetflixAndChill-ed!

I did mention that withdrawal is not very ethical. Not once was I told to come into the rooms or go to the Emergency Room. Just zap there in the corner with your crazy eyes Suzanne.

It was late in the day and my body was aching from sitting in a conference all day. My brain zapped and my anxiety was soothed by @SirNoid talking calmly and Liam James making tea. Love them.

It did occur to my funny self that they did not even know about my #NetflixAndChill thoughts! I let them live.

The next day I found a script in my inbox. Very ethically my Liam James collected my medication.

I wish you enough,