I can buy myself flowers! I can hold my own hand!

Ahhh, I have a new favourite song! (Well, a new favourite to add to my list of 7000 favourites)

I can buy myself flowers
Write my name in the sand
Talk to myself for hours
Say things you don’t understand
I can take myself dancing
And I can hold my hand
Yeah, I can love me better than you can

Miley! Miley! You’re talking my language Hannah Montana! Damn girl.

I do buy myself flowers. I’ve been taking myself on solo dates, solo hikes, solo holidays, solo everything since day dot.

Why? Well, I happen to like my own company. Just like I love me a good one-on-one date with my hot man, a book club session, moms night, and those boozy Sunday lunches with 50 of my closest family members (ha! ha!), I happen to love me a little diner pour un too.

I’ve never felt awkward about these things.

In fact, my sister Chrissy reminded me just last week of the time when I was 14 years old and took myself out to a fancy restaurant by bus, wearing my mom’s perfume – which I stole while she was at work. Yes, I know, I know! I was always a bit of an early-adopter…or what do they call them now…INFLUENCER? I sat down, surrounded by business people in their fancy suits having business lunches and ordered a Coca-Cola which I asked the waiter to pour into a wine glass. “I’ll have the…escargot” I probably said, trying to act fancy and not knowing that it was in fact snails, you know?

But you get the point.

Self-love, self-care, self-respect are not buzz words. The more you do it, the more you’ll find that what you’re looking for out there you can probably give yourself, given half a chance. And then when and IF you add other people, they’ll slot into the open spots you’ve created for them just beautifully. Right!? (Besides, another lesson I learnt age 14 is that sitting around and waiting to be taken out on a date is sooooooo last season. Beautiful sunsets wait for no man).

Listen to the Miley song guys.

Do the things,

xoxo

Lee

Dear Barbara Streisand: “People who need people are indeed the luckiest people in the world”

What could go wrong on a morning when all the traffic lights are out?

Well, I packed some hot dog rolls into a Woolies shopping bag together with some cheese grillers and set off to gym. Stay with me – the hot dogs and gym visual is true.

The plan was to give the food away before it expired without my husband finding out. Long story…

I never quite made it to the gym (no surprises there) but I decided to sit down for some scrambled eggs instead. Just before I picked a spot, I saw someone I could give the food away to. The man sells Homeless Talk, a newspaper that I have seen a million times but never bought.

As I sat down at the cafe for my breakfast, I reached for my wallet to put the parking ticket in the spot where I always put my parking ticket and that’s when I realised that my wallet was in the black hot dog bag! The plan had been to stick the empty shopping bag into my gym bag, that’s how my purse ended up inside. Note to self: forget gym.

When I related the story to my children later that afternoon, sure I added some drama but essentially:

I had no cash to get out of the parking lot and had to make some decisions quickly.

So I asked the parking lady for a free pass. Sure, she said.

The cafe owner said that I come could totally have stayed for a free breakfast.

I opened my banking app to see if there had been any transactions. Cancel Cards/Not? Pause, I decided.

As I drove up the road towards the Homeless Talk seller, I saw him holding out the Mykonos blue purse with a look that said, “………..!”

The kids screamed “Nice hot dog lady!” but the man’s face really screamed “dumb blonde!” I was guilty as charged on both counts.

But here’s what this story is really about: people people, people.

We are all just people who need people. And that’s how we all get by. By needing people and by allowing people to need us. Barbara Streisand was right.

Lee

P.S. I couldn’t find much info online re Homeless Talk but the lovely guy selling his is at the garage near St Davids in Inanda close to Summer place:-) Didn’t catch his name. Don’t tell him you know me.

A Monday “Accident”

After a rush to get the kids off to school, I grabbed my diary off my bookshelf and rushed out of the front door in my white Converse.

 

I sat down at my corner spot at my local coffee shop, pulled out my notebook and turned to November.  Damn! Wrong notebook. Many years old.

 

I flipped through it and I looked at the words. 

 

List after list

Chest pains

Deadline after deadline 

Anxiety

 

Stress

More words

More deadlines

More stress

 

I recalled it all. 

 

I must tell you though, the coolest feeling in the entire world was as I realised that all that was in the past. 

 

…and that the crap we stress about today, will also just be old words and old memories in scruffy notebooks one day too. 

 

Shucks, that’s a lovely feeling! Don’t you think?

 

 

© Lee Mayimele

 

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Where we don’t know the origin of the pics used, all respect and due credit are hereby given where appropriate. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and A Heart Full of Stories with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. All media rights and copyright for the words reserved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Loaf of Bread (Yes, another story about Gratitude & Magic)

It was the kind of morning when my coffee was medicinal rather than recreational.

 

My son had been up most of the night with an ear ache. So, he alternated between my chest, the kitchen floor and my husband’s forehead. Basically sitting (because he couldn’t lie flat) wherever he felt most comfortable and making damn sure that the whole neighbourhood knew that we had a sick patient in our home.

 

The following morning he was 100% fine and had me wondering whether the whole night was a dream. Just then, his nanny arrived and I could have kissed her, I was so happy!  But, the first thing she said was “there’s no bread?” with a look of shock- horror that bolted me out of the door, medicinal coffee in hand.

 

I zombie-d down to the shops where I stood in the longest queue, with the biggest headache for eternity.

Apples? Check.

Fabric softener? Check.

Lemons? Check.

 

I noticed that the guy standing in front of me in the queue was buying 100 loaves of bread. “Damn!” I thought, “bread! I forgot the #%*ing bread!”

 

Just then, my phone beeped and I dipped my head down. When I looked up again, the guy in front of me had disappeared.

 

And, guess what HE left behind? Yes, you guessed it.

Bread.

The very kind I intended to buy.  Paid for.

 

There are no words. No explanations. Certainly no coincidences.

Just gratitude….

 

 

© Aluta continua, as they say.  A Heart Full of Stories, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

The Art of War for Moms

My 3 year old locked himself inside a cubicle in the men’s bathroom. I can’t tell you how many times I said “do NOT lock that door” to him before he took the plunge and locked himself inside.

 

Why he was alone in the men’s room when he usually wees in the ladies’ one is a story for another day. One which includes “power struggle” as the predominant theme.

 

Actually, I think all he heard was “please lock the door to test your mother” when he committed the crime. And, I was adamant that he was going to “pay”.

 

Until I looked to my left and saw his 7 year old bodyguard with her arms folded, staring me down. They were united by a common enemy. Their army was looking strong.

 

I quickly tried to think back to The Art of War, to figure out my strategy while the men in blue overalls tried to knock the door down to rescue the felon. But, I drew a blank.

 

As soon as he was free, they both started crying like long reunited family on parole day. He was crying because he knew he had messed up. She was crying because she was overcome with stress about the situation.

 

I was just frustrated and exhausted. It was a crap day at Mama (Pty) Limited.

 

As I turned into the parking lot of their favourite restaurant, I saw my daughter in my rearview mirror “Ha Ha Ha! Shhhhh, she’s forgotten…” she laughed pointing forward towards my head. (I had threatened to go straight home after the fiasco but the lord knows that I needed the wine, so I played along and pretended I had forgotten my threat.)

 

That’s when I remembered The Art of War’s best quote “Appear weak when you are strong”. So, like a boss, I marched into the sushi spot and proceeded to use their pocket money to pay for the sushi (and wine).

 

Aluta continua, as they say.  All is indeed considered FAIR in love and in war.

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016

 

P.S. Here are some more quotes from The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

Yes, I agree, many of them do apply to my little war too 🙂  Shhhh….

• “Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him”

• “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting”

• “All warfare is based on deception”

• “In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity”

• “The wise warrior avoids the battle”

Massage with a HAPPY ending (A story about honesty)

My Thai massage did not have a happy ending and my doctor told me that I was “not the first person to suffer this fate”. Honestly.

 

Now, before you go wild and start picturing me lying topless, before your head goes to the vision of all the fat and balding men in Bangkok Tuk-Tuking home with their pants still bulging, hear me out.

 

I was there for a massage.

Nothing more.

Honestly.

 

And it was in JoBurg.  At a spa.  A legit spa.

Honestly.

 

About 6 hours after the massage, I thought that I had contracted a dreaded disease.  No, not from the Thai lady.  Stop that.  I had long forgotten about the massage.

 

I could not breathe.  I had to stay hunched over.  When I tried to sit up, I was in excruciating pain. I started off with Panado, but about 2 hours later, I needed morphine.  I was in serious pain. Honestly.

 

My sister googled some words and we concluded that it must be a “collapsed lung”.  My pain levels shot through the roof and I had to see a doctor.  He sent me home with some “muscle relaxants” (honestly!).  Less than 24 hours later, I was back in his office. Not relaxed in the least!

 

This time, he sent me to the ER and they did an X-Ray.  A bit like a ping pong show, I guess.

 

The good news was that my lung was not collapsed. Stupid, Doctor-Google.  I listened to X-Ray woman on the phone :

“There’s a lady here. Ja, she says she had a massage…” (I did!)

“Jaaaa, the one where the China girl sits on your bum” (Thai! Thai, you idiot)

“Ja, she says it was nice and soft..not sore” (It’s true, you Tom Yum head!)

“Jaaa, jaaa I wonder that too….”

 

I give up!, I thought as I Hunch Back of Notre-Dammed my ass back to the counter to collect my file.

 

I decided right there that if anyone else asked, I would have to lie.  I mean, can you imagine me telling my mother in law that I needed to RELAX and ended up with two fractured (nearly broken) ribs because a Thai lady sat on my bum, and spread her thighs on either side of my back, that we exchanged money….but I was honestly just there for a massage?  Honestly!?

 

My story may not have had the intended happy ending but I was grateful that I was not dying.  Honestly!

 

Lee-Ann Mayimele

Chief Storyteller

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016

COPYRIGHT:

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Free Upgrade (A story about ceasing opportunity)

The man sitting next to me on the plane threw apple juice into his wine. A good wine. I could have cried.

 

Then he rubbed a strong menthol ointment on his eyelids. Tears were imminent.

 

We were seated together in the emergency exit and as the stewardess was showing us how to help other people in an emergency, the smell from the Vicks Vapour Rub stuff began to burn MY eyes. That shit was strong and I am certain that the manufacturers did not intend that it be used in that way.

 

Next thing, I am being upgraded to a lovely seat in the front of business class.

 

That’s when the “tears” really started to gush! My “fear” was apparently palpable and they were glad I was “feeling better” by the time we landed. I accepted their apology.

 

I waved Mr AJBE (Apple Juice Burny Eyes) well. He had no idea just how grateful I was to have met him. 

 

And, just like that I learnt another important LIFE LESSON:

THINGS TURN OUT BEST FOR THOSE WHO MAKE THE BEST OF THE WAY THINGS TURN OUT. 

 

Aluta continua, as they say.  I urge you to look for those magical opportunities to carpe those damn diems too!

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Surfer Babe (A Lesson in Prejudice)

I was watching a woman surf. She was on fire, showing all those blonde hunks dust.

 

When I saw her get out of the water, I admired her frame. So strong and healthy.

 

People started to gather around her and I went closer to see what the fuss was.  Was it Angelina Jolie, I thought, as I edged closer.

 

She was about 75 years old.  Yes, the hot surfer babe was 75 years old.

 

I could not stop talking about her. For days, I fantasised about where she lives, how she spends her days, what she eats, whether her sex life was hot. With a body like that, it would be the saddest thing if her husband was a fat, old, cynical bloke, I thought.

 

One morning, after my 5am gratitude meditation on the beach, I was enjoying a spot of people watching. The hotel staff were busy setting up for breakfast and I snuck in some coffee. I saw an old lady in rugged blue overalls, walking around the hotel, giving instructions to the staff in fluent Zulu – a language clearly not her own. Her blonde hair was nearly all grey, her blue eyes looked tired.

 

Again, I started to fantasise about where she lives, how often she eats stewed prunes and when she stopped having sex. I guessed that her false teeth were probably still good and wondered when she would finally throw in the towel and stop working. She was ancient. 

 

Mid breakfast, I saw some action down on the beach again. I ran towards it, still thinking that it could well be Angelina Jolie, this time.

 

I got there just in time to see the old grey lady remove her rugged blue overalls and put on her superhero cape: a surf suit!  Yes, the ancient janitor-like Zulu speaking blonde granny and the healthy, vibrant, energetic, hotttttt surfer girl were the very same person!

 

I had egg on my face. And it was not just from my half eaten eggs Benedict.

 

Aluta continua, as they say! The road to letting go of judgements is still a long(for me).

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

Think Before You Speak

We were talking about, pregnancy, babies, stretch marks and labour. Stories were flying thick and fast. I had lots to say!

 

In a moment of sheer excitement, I turned to the woman sitting next to me and said “Right?! Did you also suffer from morning sickness with your two?! Blahhh”

 

She laughed. I cringed.

She laughed some more. I cringed some more.

 

I had known her for many years. I knew her kids too.  I knew that they were adopted. I knew the whole beautiful story of how that came to be.

 

You can only imagine my embarrassment when I realised I had asked her how it felt to have been pregnant with them!

She handled it graciously.  She said that she loved the way my heart leads me. (She found it endearing that I didn’t see them as her “adoptive” kids and that I made no distinction in my heart between her and the other moms around the table).

 

I quite liked that description.  So, I went along with it.   I walked away from there telling myself that I was all-heart (and only half blonde).

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016

 

P.S. Do allow me to wish you well as you try and think before you speak.  Aluta continua, as they say. The road is still long for me….

 

 

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

The Power of ART to touch the HEART

I was drawn to a lady.

 

I saw her in the window. Not in an Amsterdam Red Light District kind of way. No, it was a statue of a lady to be exact and she was beautiful with the aura of a wise old soul.

 

I wasn’t sure if she was for sale, but I followed my instinct and went inside.  Aha, I thought, I am a genius! My friend’s 40^th birthday was coming up, and although I was more than one month early, I was sorted. I could tick her gift off my list.

 

After she became mine, the lady stayed in my car for a day or two. Then I moved her to the office. She looked happy.

 

When we closed for the Christmas holidays, I moved her back to my car.  She didn’t seem to mind that either.

 

But it was only until I mounted her in the perfect spot in my home (okay, this is still sounding Red Light-ish), that she really seemed to come alive.  What a magnificent piece of art she was, revealing her essence slowly and seductively, ever so subtly like a Picasso may have done.

 

My fascination with the lady grew each day. I noticed she was holding her hands together, palms up, as though she was either offering or accepting something.  I loved that I didn’t know which it was and that I still needed to find out exactly what she was up to.  The mystery intoxicated me.

 

Days went by, and she was still mounted.  I justified her hanging to myself by saying “It needs to stay out of the way of the kids” but God knows, I was planning a coup. Her spell was cast and there was no way I could entertain the thought of parting ways. Not yet.

 

When my friend came around after her holidays, I was so delighted to see her.  She brought spices and spices make my heart sing.

 

While I was opening the wine, my daughter stormed into the kitchen and said “Mama is soooo mad, you know!?”

 

The holidays had been long and I must say, the manners-barometer was shaky.

 

My friend played along, “Yes, darling. Why is your mama so mad?”

 

“Well, you see that” she said pointing to the lady.  My heart pounded hard. “Well, she bought that for yourrrrrrrrrr birthday surprise, but now she says it’s hers and you are getting a…..” 

 

My reaction was swift.

 

I said “Damn kids of today!” and rolled my eyes.

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015.

 

P.S. The lady remains in my care. And the mystery of whether she is giving or receiving or doing both is still driving me mad. (Again, no PG 21 SVNL tones whatsoever are intended by that statement)

 

COPYRIGHT:

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.