Do What you LOVE & the rest will follow…

I want to tell you a quick story about my book, Musings – Reflections of Gratitude.

When I wrote it, I thought I had accomplished my mission. I thought it would go into bookstores and I could sit my bottom down to rest and write again. But, life had other plans for me.

For a good year and a half now, I have been signing copies of this book. I kid you not. It has gone to print over 6 times and not a week goes by without a stream of corporate gifts walking out of my front door. Each person who bought it, seemed to think of many other people (moms, friends, grannies, colleagues) to whom they wanted to gift the book.

Don’t laugh! That’s my game face (tongue & all)

There are many nights when I find myself sitting at my dining room table, surrounded by hundreds of pink gift bags, pink ribbon, pink tissue paper with my little people packing the personalised books signed Mary, Sophie, Lebo, Maria, Fatima et al.

You see, what I have come to realise about this book, is that my job was not simply to write it, my job was to LIVE it. That is, the lesson about giving and receiving. About being truly grateful.

It has truly been a labour of LOVE, one which I have truly been rewarded for over and over again.

Talking about love, support and all things gifty, I’ve partnered with the lovely mom duo Debbie and Lauren from The Domestic Dolls for Women’s month and you can order signed copies of the very book for your besties, your bookclub, your staff members and all the wonderful women in your life through this website : https://the-domestic-dolls.myshopify.com/collections/books/products/musings-reflections-of-gratitude

Don’t forget to tell them how grateful you are for all they are and all they do.

xoxo

Lee

The Girl who was raped (A story about picking your battles)

I realised I was overdressed but it was too late to do anything about it. So, I kept my long vintage leather coat on, accepted a glass of wine and wandered around the bookstore trying to very hard to blend.  It was futile, really.

 

I was there to attend a book launch. About rape. A young girl’s rape. 

 

The author’s mother, a psychologist, was in the audience. I turned around to see her smile. I thought about my own mom and jealousy, not sadness, flooded my veins. I knew that I would never again get that wink that only a mother can give.

 

So, overdressed, tipsy and a little jealous, I sat my bum down and brought my full attention to the moment.

 

The author had researched rape expensively for her Honours thesis and in a bloody cruel twist of fate, she was raped on the very night that she had presented her research and was out to celebrate.

 

My jealousy faded. My heart flooded with sadness. The kind of sadness that made jealousy incomprehensible.

 

“The Girl who was raped” seemed centered. Composed. Vulnerable but focused.  My heart saluted hers as I admired her dark eyebrows framing those eyes filled with courage.

 

And then came the questions. I could have sworn that three people had been planted by AMSA, the Association for Morons in South Africa. 

 

Moron Number 1 suggested that young women on her town square “provoke” men by the way they dress/act. Short-shorts and laughter. You know? A deadly “come get me now” combo.  I kid you not.

 

The other had it on good authority (someone she worked with 39 years ago) that it was “normal” for black people to rape/be raped. And no, she didn’t blur her face while making this statement.

 

Then the Chairman of AMSA spoke.  With a dead straight face, he pleaded with 50 women to be sympathetic to the plight of the man who simply doesn’t know if no means yes or if no really means no. Again, his true identity was not concealed and he didn’t intend to apply for police escort. He was just really “confused”.

 

My blood pressure was rising and I was starting to look crazy. I had already stuck my hand up twice. “I disagree” to the first woman’s input and “I object! I object!” while the second moron spoke.  I seemed to be the only person in the room on this vibration, possessed by the spirit of Joan of Arc.

That’s when I did the most sensible thing of the evening.  I called my Uber and took my ass home.

 

Rather that, than I be mistaken for Deputy Chairperson of AMSA.  Things were certainly heading in that direction….

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016