To dream is to starve doubt, feed hope. 

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

Sitting on a blanket in a field of sunflowers, typing on a retro style typewriter while eating sour dough bread with salted butter, brie cheese and fig preserve.

An ever so delicate breeze would pick up a strand of my hair. A delightful shade of purple would dance against the blue sky.

Stetched out on the blanket, I look up. I close my eyes while darkness rolls in with a gift of stars. A million flickering delights.

Are you shining just for me?

I wish you enough

Wenchy

Tonight our hearts drown the distant drums

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

I listen to the things my many children, husband and friends speak about, the way they see the world and experience the people beside them….and I reflect on my own long and cobbled stone road.

The universal pull is that people want to be loved, wanted, appreciated, listened to and acknowledged. We want to matter. We want to fit in, yet be our own person and march to our inner pan flute. Stuff that, I hate pan flutes…. the sound of a lone saxophone. That’s what I choose to be….. and we have music all right.

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Lonely. I have seldom felt more lonely than within a group of people. Sometimes they are pan flutes, some even play the triangle. They are lost to the sound of the saxophone. I don’t mind being alone. On my own. I’m really smashing company. Especially at 3am.

After I did my Radio Today interview, I felt utterly naked on a foreign stage to be judged. Bare. I’m not sure how I expected to feel, because nothing I said was different to what I would write or speak about. You can listen to the podcast:  HERE

Oh and do people love a small public lynching amongst themselves!

I totally forgot the topic as my mind ….. wonders around interesting spaces all the time. How great others would have done, never been in a studio before… “here is a microphone love, knock yourself out“. Well, I admit, while I truly enjoyed it and I would do it again in a heartbeat, I have learned a number of things during my 22 minutes on air. There are things I would do  very differently. Some technical, some behavioural, breathing would be good and not mention nymphomania in the first five minutes may be a stretch… but at the end of it, I always want to be unashamed me….and that I was. True to me.

Why do we all want to fit in so badly? We want to be ourselves. Okay forget the pan flutes you can all be drums if you like, but … “Please… oh do like me and and add me or send me an invitation to the A list of bloggers / school lunch break cool group / geek group / social outcast group / social media supreme luncheon / media drops / influencers / interesting creatures list. Just don’t leave me out here… with my nose pressed against the window looking in.” Love me. Care about me. Don’t exclude me. That is what we ALL want. Even the bad asses. We want to fit with someone or something…somewhere.

Did you know… there is no medal at death for being part of a herd? None. Well, none that any near death experiences documented that I have read, spoke about. Bright light and peaceful I’ve heard… even harps (right up there with pan flutes – save me!) but no medals. No reward. Not a pat on the back.

“Oh you were a fantastic herd person. Just stand in this line… no, oops ….sorry, wrong line, you were not an interesting person .. frankly we do believe you died while you were still alive. You were a mere flute… Our mistake… off you go.” tra-la-la (Bee I hear you now!)

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We really need to stop apologising for who we are and embrace ourselves. Nobody can be a better you, than you can be! Nobody is the world knows you better! Okay… maybe God and the Devil. I do believe they make it their business to know. Well, the Devil does. God already knows your details before you were born,… it is not God’s fault if you wanted to be a flute.

If you must, … rather play the triangle. At least we remember the triangle! …. but there is NOTHING like a lone Saxophone.

a cry that tells us love goes on and on
played on a solo saxophone
it’s telling me
to hold you tight
and dance like it’s the last night of the world
– Miss Saigon

I wish you enough,

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If the colour fits, wear it!

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

In mythology and palmistry, the left hand is called the dreamer because the ring finger on the left hand leads directly to the heart. I find it a very poetic idea. And that’s why I only wear nail polish on my left ring finger.
– Gloria Vanderbilt

I think Gloria is seriously limiting herself. Perhaps she have more cats than I do. Less husbands also… Painting only one finger would absolutely mess with my bi-polar self, I wouldn’t cope. The yin and the yang isn’t well… yanging! I think hell is a place of no colour, no books and certainly no nail polish and purple glitter. Sorry Gloria!

I unexpectedly met Glamore SA online and we were chatting purple. Seriously? Who does that… #LeSigh I loved the colour they were showcasing Hean Jungle Pop 281, along with my daughter Victoria’s favourite colour, Hean Jungle Pop 277.  Who doesn’t love a goodie bag, so when it arrived I was thrilled.

I immediately contacted Thembi  because one needs a professional for these things when you are me! She has been doing my nails for seven years so she has seen it all. I’ve come to the firm conclusion that anyone who works in the beauty industry is also a qualified therapist by default. Naturally it is a win-win for me. I have a captive audience who has to listen to all the nonsense that keep coming out of my mouth!

Thembi come over and we played with colour. I told Thembi that I was reviewing the products and I would like to know the good and the bad. Thembi is not one to hold back! As I’ve no fine motor co-ordination in my right hand especially thanks to Ankolysing Spondilitus, Thembs is my professional of choice. Besides that, I’ve never coloured inside the box.

Everyone was surprised I wasn’t wearing just purple!!

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Thembi was not familiar with the brand either but loved the colours and the easy apply brush. Smooth consistency without running. (Apparently that is important) She mentioned that for me, la Wenchy, who likes everything in the dramatic, three coats will be best which is what she did. The nail polish dried very fast. This is a big win for me as I’m clumsy, and inevitably Thembi has to sit me down to “fix” what I’ve smudged before I’ve even left the salon!

I was quite ready to send out my blog at once because it looked fabulous, but Thembi advised me to wait, see if it looses shine and thirdly, how long will the polish last without chipping?

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Well, I’m into my third week and here is the result:

3 weeks later.

You can clearly see how my nail has grown, but the colour … not a chip. I’m a tad amazed as I usually only get that result when I use gel. I can also mention that at functions I attended recently, numerous stylist complimented me on my nails. How fabulous is that!!

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Thembi and I.


You will not find these products in your local salon, unless they have purchased from Glamore Cosmetics directly, but you can conveniently order online with a delivery to your door!

Glamore Cosmetics


+27 82 305 4152


Thank you for spoiling me! I enjoyed it tremendously. You gifted me colours and in return gained a customer, and dare I say a friend!

I wish you enough,

Wenchy

In between your thoughts I live #Wenchytude

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Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

Judging by my event calendar,  I interact with a vastly different people every day.

Most people are always lovely and polite some with crude jokes … accept me as quirky,  slightly eccentric,  creative, somewhat intelligent who needs a serious fashion intervention. They point and laugh with me when I do something stupid often but the real ones help me clear up my mess and suggest lipstick.

Others find that the Wench is just too much usually woman.  For instance,  does this woman EVER stop talking!!! She’s just overwhelming with the purple hair and the porn nails. Does she not know you should not wear flip flops to every occasion?

They don’t bother looking further than the loud,  tattooed personality that comes with huge laughter and deep sobbing pain.  Shame.  Their live will be poorer for it. Probably also more silent.  Bless.

Sometimes I am not sure who fits into which category. If the world is but a stage, some people should honestly just play the part as the pot plant.  No glitter for them.  No exit stage left.

Thankfully just when I think we may have to stage an intervention, I find sincere and true as a nun prayer for the Von Trapp family friends, who will take my call at 3pm.  Especially as we know I detest speaking on the phone.

I just wanted to say THANK you for seeing value in me. My abilities, strengths, my talents,  as well as my weaknesses emotionally  physically & bonkers.  You let my work speak for itself.  You are working with me out of choice as I am a freelance Social Media Diva & Blogger. You choose me to help develop your naked vision.  I am honoured.

To be accepted just as you are…  Without the dame’s stage makeup in the pantomime,  an outfit from Doobie BOOBIES and a script that may sometimes resemble the #DoubleBass because I’m very exotic that way… is quite the achievement for a little one girl who owned red tap shoes when she dreamed of being Judy Garland.  Sigh. I love you very much and I am grateful.

What we can learn from this entry is that I am an observer in my madness.  I see you,  when you don’t see me.  I’m a sentimental fool who may have been a gay man in my previous life attracted to bears.

I wish you enough light,  so the path don’t ever seem dark.
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Posted to WordPress from the Galaxy of Samsung from the second cloud on your left.

Rocking the 3am #Wenchytude

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Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

The past week I’ve averaged three hours sleep a night.  It’s been exhausting but the days and evenings exciting. I don’t know how I made it through each day but I did, smiling for most of it.

My son Liam James came to visit for the first time in months. I enjoyed spending more than 5 minutes with him.  I felt sad that he had to leave.

Our geyser gave in the week before,  this week our downstairs flooded with a burst pipe in the wall behind a the bath.  Cold showers are underrated but then it is summer here and hot. @SirNoid and I each have our own bathroom and mine is affected, making me feel like I am camping.  lol 😁 Yes that is Diva behaviour…  #justsaying

I went to see a play, a premier of a movie,  attended a number of greatly successful business meetings,  did numerous costing exercises,  I attend two media briefings with multitude of celebrities,  I received a wonderful stat report unexpectedly that just made my day, did a corporate interview,  knitted for @67Blankets, worked on numerous social media accounts, visited The Saxon twice in one week, visited my mom and Tayla-Jade (my niece who had a heart attack at 17 very recently) for a short while, attended  a wedding with my daughter Victoria,  wrote for publication, played #ClashOfClans,  #HayDay and #CandyCrush when I couldn’t sleep,  wore actual business attire more than usual,  updated my purple hair,  went to the optometrist,  did some banking,  took a selfie with Mr. Mandela’s statue in broad daylight in Sandton Square… and still have 1 000 unread emails in my inbox and a mountain of admin that awaits.  Yikes!

I love “Suits”, but I cannot stand Lewis.  No amount of pity thrown his way,  ever makes me feel sorry for him.

My friend Melany introduced me to a special coffee many, many years ago, Enrista , the weak one. I love it. I decided to give it up after looking at the carb content. It has been one week. I miss my coffee,  my brand – but my weight loss has moved in the right direction. I MISS MY COFFEE.

My husband has been long suffering this week. (Trying to make it sound dramatic) He attended two events with me which is most unusual but made me happy.  On Monday evening we were at a cocktail function in Sandton. 20th floor.  It was spectacular! First the sunset and then the lights. Wow #Jozi!

By Friday evening…  I could not walk.  Ankolysing Spondylitis and Fibromyalgia kicked in.  My husband had to park my car.

I WANTED to spend the afternoon with my husband,  instead after I came back from The Norwood Niche Market and I promptly fell asleep.  He woke me up at 19h00 wanting me to still sleep tonight.

Included in the week was showing the next generation how to make a duck face…  Don’t say I don’t give back.  #Wenchytude

What are you looking to this coming week?

I wish you enough.
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Posted to WordPress from the Galaxy of Samsung from the second cloud on your left.

I use to be Snow White but I drifted…. my birthday gift WISH list for 13 June.

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Thank you  for the picture!

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

My dream birthday list…  turning 14 again:

1. I would love a proper purple handbag in Kevin G Friedman style of exquisite taste,  but not in that darling man’s budget!

2.  A Stuttafords gift voucher to buy Sensai foundation /powder.

3. A purple shawl thingie @VictoriaT99 and I saw when we went to look for school shoes at Woolworths in Rosebank Mall.

4. A stylus.  Exclusive Books has some.  Mine broke.  Don’t ask.  Don’t point at my ass.

5. Purple streaks… Just here and there.

6. Nails and toes with Thembisile Munyai.

7. Sunflowers and/or yellow roses.

8. Afternoon tea somewhere fabulous!

9. Killarney Mall vouchers for massage, eye brows, pedicures,  facialbooks…  Dream,  dream,  dream… .

10. Original Ice Strawberry Daiquiri.

11. Anything from Le Creuset, you guessed it –  in purple!

12. Mint flavoured white ice tea from Woolworths. lol I’m serious dammit.

13. White chocolate.

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14. Cupcakes.  Red velvet.  🙂

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These were baked by my BFF, Will.

Oh the excitement of my birth month!!!!!

I wish you enough,

Wenchy

Another brick in the wall…

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

If my nursery school report is anything to go by,  not much has changed.

I didn’t like playing outside.  I liked reading,  story time,  music time and acting and dress up.  I didn’t like getting dirty and my mom says I use to get out the car and just go to school.  No wave,  no looking back.  At that point at least I could still count,  knew my alphabet apparently quite early and I could name the colours and farm animals.

I was in the Lion class,  which is not a farm animal.  As you know,  here in Africa we let all animals walk around freely and enjoy our backyards as they like. Terrible for traffic and the odd child being eaten.

Primary school, I remember going to enroll with Ouma Chrissie,  but on the day school started, I sommer went alone.  No shoes.  I am  an Afrikaanse meisie,  we don’t do shoes. I still don’t like shoes.  (Love pedicures btw)

In grade one or two I remember a girl’s parents asked that their child not sit next to me as my parents were divorced.  Yes,  I am sure their divorce could rub off on your child. The rest of that year I sat alone.  I remember learning to count with burnt cigarettes which we made huts with later.

I went to school a year early so I was always the youngest. I was desperate to play netball but you could only play in standard one and I was still a year too young. Being very short didn’t help! Eventually I was allowed to play but not outside of our school. I was too young. I settled in with a group a year behind me at school in the end and I loved it very much.

I did just dandy at school and  I did modern and tap dancing in the afternoons. I didn’t like ballet.  Looked very pretencious to me.  I did piano lessons,  drama lessons,  I played every sport available at school and I was on my bike constantly.  I wrote books and drew the pictures to accompany my stories.  Unless a miracle happened,  those pictures must have been terrible. Good times.

I had the same boyfriend from grade two to standard four.  Hey,  not much of a one night stand kinda girl. He did turn out to be captain of the rugby team so I did ok.

End of standard four everything changed.  My father died and I was to go live with my Mammie and my sister,  Rentia in the city. My boyfriend dumped me.

We lived in Hillbrow towards the end of it being trendy.  Some parts were downright scary.  For the first time in my life I had to catch a bus… with Rentia…. to school.  I was petrified off my surroundings and wondered if my Mom dies how am I going to get hold of my Ouma?

My final year of Primary School was strange.  The school was very poor so they would feed us porridge in the morning before school and give us a sandwich at lunch.  Meals on wheels would arrive.  Seriously.  If you said no thank you, they thought you were just being shy! We use to get vegetables on Fridays to take home and occasionally Albany would give everyone a bread!

The teachers were horrid and liked to beat the crap out of you. If you got 11/20, they would snack you with a ruler 9 times and so on. I wonder if it was an Afrikaans thing.

There was one teacher who wanted to save the world (reminds me of @SirNoid in teacher mode) who on weekends would take us out of town to see a cave or a dam or braai at his mom’s house where we could swim…. and then drive everyone back to school.  Bless his heart.

The school had no extra murals but we played baseball on the red sand at break.  Huge culture shock for me as I use to be incredibly driven physically with sport and dancing. Red sand is bloody hard to get out of white socks.

Oh I won Miss….. Beauty pageant that year.  I got fake flowers for a crown and I think some chocolate. My Mammie and sister was very proud.

I decided to go to art school more because nobody else from this school would be going there.  First day of High School my mom walked me in and I cried like a colicky baby.

Loved my time there. Sport resumed,  plenty of madness. Lots of time for acting and creating chaos.  The teacher made me class captain in an attempt to get me to behave!  Haha!  I gave my badge in the same day.  No way am I reporting on other kids.  Sorrrrryyyy!

I met my friend Vicky there when I was 12. Until today I would kill the bull for her and she has slayed a few dragons for me.  Home wasn’t great (to say I hated my then stepfather –  now dead – is an understatement) but I loved school.  Hated holidays lol.

Brief stint at another school when the English and Afrikaans Art schools joined up…. and I decided I wanted to matriculate in English.  Besides, I am not a conformist.  I did not do well with how long your dress has to be and your hair may not touch your collar blah blah.

After visiting various places of education my Mammie and I settled on a private college where you went to school daily,  in whatever outfit you liked.  It was just like regular school,  minus the crap, plus lipstick.  Giving me freedom, I excelled academically.  I loved studying.  I loved trying to find my feet between Afrikaans and English in all the different subjects. History remains my favourite.  Just not ‘Die Groot Trek’. It is also here where my political believes were formed on the pavements outside and my friends of many colours. I also learned that all black men are not terrorists as I was previously taught at school.

We really are not a one size fit all education system,  we never were.

In the end it was so rewarding for me to have made this weird choice.  I matriculated with two distinctions and university entrance with English as my first language and a hatred for rassism. Smarty pants.

I was accepted at WITS University when idiotic me decided I shall marry instead so I never have to see my stepfather again.

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…. and that is where the crap really started.

I wish you enough,
Wenchy

Posted from the second cloud on your left.

They playing your song!

“If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.”
– Edward Hopper”

Wouldn’t the above quote be so apt if I was not a writer?  I actually sang a small Elton John song when I read it to be honest.  (If I was a sculptor,  but then again,  no…. Or a man who makes potions..)

There was a time last year,  I seriously questioned my own sanity.  More than usual that is… which in itself depletes a medical aid.

I was blinded by my passion,  excitement,  stars,  lights, action! at having found people who spoke my language. I saw opportunities to learn when I should have listened to my inner voice when my husband and daughter on separate occasions said ‘Run Wenchy,  run..!’  (Then again the thought of me running is truly too far-fetched so I can see why my inner voice got silenced with ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’)

To be fair, I learned many things about my new found vocabulary! Good things… and bad things, but an experience it was. One I am thankful for.

I was also reminded that people are self centered,  ego hungry and quickly threatened.  Do not get me wrong,  the threat is perceived. Not REAL – but the emotional reaction is very real. I should know!  I am threaded by billions of woman whom I perceive to be perfect because they thin! How shallow is THAT!

I am under no ILLUSION. I am not a threatening personality!  Loud,  vulgar,  over the top,  highly inappropriate at times,  sincere, loving,  complimentary, emotional,  caring,  funny and  insulting all pretty equally but not a threat. 

But,  as evil does,  you start believing lies.  You are a failure.  You are not good enough.  Without me,  you are nothing.  A bit like an abusive relationship really – tango with the devil darling.  Terribly predictable to people looking in from the outside,  but from the inside,  you are clearly idiotic and deserve to feel crap about yourself.

Then suddenly the veil is lifted and life starts making sense.  Yes I made mistakes but nobody died or promised their soul to the evil Queen in exchange for legs (think mermaids) .  Hey!  You human after all! You apologised.  Move on.  There is no need to beat yourself with a stick. There is no medal for self mutilation.

It took me some to come to terms with the failed tango,  but instead of being an outcast for being a crappy dancer,  I was embraced.  I slipped back to the comfort of being me… And surprise,  surprise – I am loved.  Accepted…. Above all,  I like myself truckloads more.

Yeah,  Wenchy is a tad rough round the edges and you never know what may come out of her mouth…. and apparently that is just the attraction! Imagine that! I was more surprised than anyone. I am sincere.  Passionate. Sjoe,  so people actually do like me as I am.  Yay for them!

Don’t you find following your authentic self so much more alluring than pretending to be what people want you to be? Drama is one thing but  pretending is not acting love. Don’t be silly.

It’s in the details…. As little as making a booking and saying Wenchy… surname?  Nope.  Just Wenchy.  Like Cher or Madonna.  No I cannot compare but I love fake eyelashes!! Silence on the other side.  I’m good with that.

Be your authentic self.  Dance the tango only with a partner who thinks the moon comes alive in your eyes…. and seriously?  Buy the red lipstick.  Tattoo if you like.  Life is too short to care if fitting in will get you noticed.  Live abundantly –  out loud. Sing badly in your car,  but still,  Sing!

Take that shackles off your feet so you can dance… and THAT will be enough.

Wenchy