Ruth's Real Life

Mosquitoes, Moustaches and Saddam Hussein One memorable holiday, Julia and I headed off to a lodge in Hluhluwe. It was December. In the hot, hot heart of Zululand. But this is not about the curtains of mosquitoes that obscured our view of the sunset. It’s not about the death of the generator, that awful moment when the world went quiet, except for the persistent sucking of the swamp and a collective shiver of delight from the clouds of mosquitoes, sensing their moment had come.   There were choices, of course. We could stay in our room and join the puddle made by our fridge in extremis as we melted without the air conditioning, or, we could open the windows and be bitten to the bone by vulture sized mozzies. There was one other choice. A quad bike ride to a lake to view hippos seemed enticing. After all, I have ridden camels in Egypt, climbed the Great Wall of China and once, even knitted a jersey. (The fact that the jersey was so hideous that not even a camel would wear

Start your heart-dance.   Fatter Than Life is a poem about living ‘juicy’, about living a larger life. It was written at a time in my life where I felt lost and trapped in both my inner and outer worlds. We probably all have those days where – even in the middle of the brightest day – it feels like midnight in your soul. The hook for the poem came one beautiful Karoo morning, driving that straight, long road back to Johannesburg from the Cape. There was my tall African sky that I love so much, carrying a silver and grey cloud formation called a holy mackerel sky. I loved the unusual name and it began to dance in my head as the road unrolled. The name and the clouds had a lift and a joy that I was searching for. I have been a big person for most of my life. I was sent for ballet lessons – once. I came home knowing that if I was ever going to star in a ballet it would be as the Lake and not the Swan. But I don’t have to wear a tutu, or in my case, fourfour, to know how to dance

If you're anything like me (people who know me would warn you not to be) then you have a host of passwords, usernames, login names, URLs YouAreHells and the rest. Life can get complicated. So when I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to access my Gmail account, only to remember it was actually a Yahoo account, I used the 'life is complicated feel sorry for me' line to silence the laughter. But life is complicated. It doesn't take long for a Gmail to become a G-string and then and then you're up the crack without any paddles. Well, probably just as well you don't have paddles, that could be really uncomfortable. This blog is called 'Ruth's Real Life, but with so many identities, it's hard to know which password to enter as I get out of bed in the morning. There's nothing new about searching for identity, but my blog search is new. Shakespeare used King Lear to ask: "Who is that can tell me who I am?" I'm not sure that it