Columns - 15 February 2010
Dancing through the pain of farewells to put my head on a blog
Urban Edge - Cape Times
By Evelyn John Holtzhausen
Dancing through the pain of farewells to put my head on a blog
In NIA classes, Kathy begins by
asking us to take one step forward into the dance. And what a wonderful way
that is to begin; to take one step forward into the new. And that’s exactly
what I will do when this column comes to an end in the Cape Times today and I
step into a blog.
So farewell then. Eleven years is a
long time. But it’s the number of years I have been filling this space twice a
month,.
I have received a few klaps from
people for sharing for my love of some remote places, which they believed would
become less remote, thanks to my enthusiasm for them, but I have also received
a lot of encouragement from people who have found what have written in this space
has helped them, start the week with a smile instead of a frown and who have
been comforted, particularly in times of trauma.
I received one abusive mail in all
that time from a man who said I had wasted 10 minutes or so of his life— the
time he elected to read my column. One of the most haunting e-mails I received was
after I had written a column about an intruder in my house. It was from another
victim of crime. She described being carried “like a bride” across the
threshold into her bedroom. Her would-be rapist was disturbed and she was not
raped. But that image has remained.
Another was from a person who said
one of my columns had helped to come to grips with the devastating loss of a
close friend. How wonderful it has been to touch peoples lives; to know that we
share so much in what we love and what we fear.
In lighter vein a column that raised
a laugh was my description at walking into a tree on a hiking trail near
Stanford, when I almost knocked myself out while Greig doubled over with laughter. To his credit Greig has always been a most
convivial companion.
He also taught me not to be afraid of
cooking; in those days I could boil water and add milk to muesli. “Many men marry,”
his mother had apparently told him as she taught him to cook, “ out of hunger.”
Years later Greig, still has a quote
for every occasion; This from Canadian humorist Stephen Leacock:” Many a man in
love with a dimple makes the mistake of marrying the whole girl". Indeed.
Two shrink-wrapped woman appeared in
those 11 years. One was a lithe German-speaking blonde who, unannounced, joined
us for two days on the Tsitsikamma trail shrink-wrapped in skimpy black shorts,
the other was a lady shrink-wrapped into a pink leotard gyrating at gym. And to my amusement, I still meet people who
remember my description of taking my consume off in public in a stressful daze
after a swim at gym.
“Stress,” remarked my optometrist at
the time “is like dust, it gets into everything”
So thank you then to Jenny Crocker,
who gave me space for my first column, to Chris Whitfield the then Editor of
the Cape Times who allowed me the a more regular slot, to Ann, for being an
encouraging and enthusiastic critic, bold enough to caution me when a column
skidded off the data forks, and quick to praise when it worked.
And to my friend Peter who gave me
the best advice of all when week after week I struggled to end on a punchy
note. “ Sometimes," said Peter,” you have to just let go.” And I did. And
so it was also that I let go of so much baggage earlier this year by jumping
off Lions head under a paraglider and I will let go of this space today, after
the full stop at the end.
That I even know what a blog is, is really
impressive given that I am tech-impaired. It was, after all, only a few short
years ago that I was asking which way up to put the CD in the CD player. This
week it was the cigarette-dispensing machine at the restaurant. “Good grief,” I
said.” Cigarettes 20.17 a pack these days,
“No Evelyn,” replied Greig “that’s
the time.” Ahh. I replied as the price went up to 20.18 a pack.
In the years to come I hope to keep
on dancing. I got hooked on NIA,
(initially Non Impact Aerobics but now so much more) just before Christmas.
What trauma closes down NIA opens up, and instead of curling into yourself like
a fetus to protect yourself from the pain; you dance with joy and celebrate
life. It’s wonderful.
So thank you and farewell then. As a
parting shot, let me mimic Greig and offer a quote: this from the TV series
Hill Street Blues: “be careful out
there.”
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