Meaningless and Maladroit Manis Memoirs Chapter 63: Suffering Seasickness in the Riverbed

It might be best to read Chapter 61 and Chapter 62 before this. Or not.

“We’ll have to roll it to Larry”, decided Lois. “Are you kidding? What if someone sees us with it?” Leona was very worried.

The ball’s name was Manny and it did not appreciate being called ‘it’.

The ball listened intently to the scheming girls as it was being rolled along the riverbed, dribbled between two of the lions (Leona, too embarrassed to be seen with her sisters, was following 30 paces behind). The ball knew it had made a terrible mistake.

Like the lions, the ball was well aware of fertogafers, but had never seen one for itself. In fact, its mother had drilled into it, the golden rule of their exclusive species: “YOU MUSTN’T BE SEEN!” This rule had been passed on for countless generations. It was uttered at every possible opportunity, even when it didn’t seen necessary- “Manny, can you please pass the termintes? And remember, YOU MUSTN’T BE SEEN!” “Yes, you may go outside and tease some Red Romans, but YOU MUSTN’T BE SEEN!”

There were, obviously, some exceptions to this rule. It’s permissible to be seen (especially by fertogefers) if their likely response will be, “Yip, that there’s an armadillo, ya see ‘em squashed all the time out on the I-95”. But it was a rule that if anything that sees you is going to enjoy seeing you, appreciate how special and unique you are and take a genuine interest in you, YOU MUSTN’T BE SEEN! (Author’s note: Yes, I am bitter.)

To fight off the nausea induced by the relentless rolling, the ball pondered the series of events which had led it here. Rolling was not its preferred method of travel and it wasn’t accustomed to it. Tucked safely within, it possessed four legs, although it rarely used its front ones. Walking around on all fours was so terribly primitive.

It had arrived at that fateful bush by following an ant. At any point along the journey, it could have used it freakishly long tongue to reach out and gobble up the ant. In fact, the ant was expecting this. With each tiny step, the ant recalled the happiest memories in its short life, like the time it learned that millipedes made brilliant ‘bendy’ buses. But the ball had bigger plans for the ant. The ball hypothesized that if this ant was left to live, it would lead to more ants. To its dismay, the ant led it not to more ants, but to this particular bush by the roadside, where it was promptly eaten by an exceptionally fat Ground Agama. ‘Fantastic’ thought the ball to itself. AND YOU MUSTN’T BE SEEN!

So there it found itself, far from home in mid-afternoon under a bush with no travel snacks. Despite being quite blind, it knew there were lions about. The lionesses wouldn’t care to be reminded that they shamelessly neglected their hygiene in favour of their looks. The ball also felt the rumble of the approaching dust cloud long before the girls did. The rest is history.

By this time, the ball was sufficiently hot and dizzy and wanted very much to be tucked away in its burrow.

As they rolled the ball along, the girls continued to speculate. “I think it’s just a tortoise. Yes, I’m becoming more and more convinced that it’s a tortoise”, said Lois. From 30 paces behind, Leona shouted, “What about a mongoose? It may be a mongoose with a terrible skin condition. I have a lovely cream that should help…”. But then Leona remembered that she didn’t like the ball, whatever it was, and was certainly not going to share her cream with it. She hoped the other girls hadn’t heard her offer, so there wouldn’t be a need to formally retract it. “What will happen to the garden ornaments if the whales can’t read?” Lisa asked Lois, with grave concern in her voice.

“Do tell me you haven’t kicked that poor Pangolin all the way here?” quizzed Larry when he saw the girls approaching. Embarrassed, they stopped in their tracks.

Meaningless and Maladroit Manis Memoirs Chapter 62: No Escape

(Only makes sense if read after Chapter 61. Actually, it doesn't make sense at all. Nevermind.)

...She gingerly pawed at it with her ginger paw, and much to everyone's surprise, it rolled out from under the bush and settled neatly at their feet...

“What is that?” cried Leona as she jumped back, clearly disgusted. Lois pawed at it again. ‘Don’t touch it!’ snarled Leona. “Maybe it’s a plant, or a pinecone”, offered Lois. On closer inspection, the tan-coloured ball was indeed covered in hard, sharp plates. “I think it’s a whale”, whispered Lisa as she gazed off into the distance. Lisa was the prettiest of three, so the other two needed her, but she didn’t excel when engaged in conversation. On this occasion, her comments were ignored.

“Wait, I think I’ve seen these before”. Lois was remembering something. “Nossob campsite. Don’t the fertogafers kick these at each other? I think they’re called ‘stocker balls’”. “How crude!” exclaimed Leona. She wanted nothing to do with it. All the while, she knew what a ‘stocker ball’ was, and this was not one. It wasn’t bouncy, nor was it ‘fun’ enough.

“Oh no, here comes another…” Before Leona finished, all three girls could see that down the riverbed, a tell tale cloud of dust was approaching. They never could understand why these fertogafers always travelled within a dust cloud. Maybe they were very light and the dust carried them? Lois had to act quickly. She hurriedly kicked the ball so it rolled back under the bush from whence it came. “Very odd!” exclaimed Leona, again. She certainly didn’t want to be photographed with that. The girls tried their best to smile for the cameras, but they worried someone might see what they were concealing. Some of these photographers had terribly powerful zoom lenses, which kept the ladies on top of their grooming. Between them, they never had a hair out of place.

They posed nervously. Seconds past like hours. Their eyes nervously darted between the bush and the fertogafers. When the fertogafers finally left, the girls let out a collective sigh. The thing had thankfully stayed under the bush.

“We need to take it back to Larry, he’ll know what it is” said Lois. “What?! Just leave it here! This is all very irrelevant and we shouldn’t be discussing it. When did we start bringing home everything we see”, hissed Leona. “Are we going to bring back that exceptionally fat Ground Agama too?” she added, nodding in the direction of an exceptionally fat Ground Agama, who took a nervous gulp before running away. “What if it’s food and he found out we just left it? If we bring it back, we don’t have to hunt this afternoon. Think about that”. Lois had an excellent point. “If there are whales at the party, would it be inappropriate to serve butternut soup?” asked Lisa thoughtfully.

Lois tried the grip the ball, but to no avail. The hard scales just slid away from her teeth and the ball fell to the ground with an unpleasant thud. It didn’t bounce. When she tried again, one of the ball’s sharp scales cut painfully into Lois’s mouth, causing her to ‘meow’ like a kitten, which in turn caused much her embarrassment, which caused her to forget all about the pain in her mouth.

Meaningless and Maladroit Manis Memoirs Chapter 61: A Very Silly Rustle

“Do you think they’re nearly finished?” Lois whispered to Leona, who was also trying her hardest to look her most beautiful for the mob of flashing cameras. Leona was a true professional and ignored Lois completely. She turned her head gracefully away from Lois, giving the paparazzi a new angle. Lois, Leona and Lisa were bonafide celebrities. In fact, they were the reason why a migrating primate species called a ‘fertogafer’ came to this part of Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park.

Fertogafers took countless pictures of the three girls. They simply couldn't get enough of them. Their images adorned bedroom walls and living room mantels far beyond the park boundaries and all over the world, and the girls knew it. They knew it because more and more fertogafers kept coming, sent north to this remote corner of the world by others who had come before them. They all came with the hope of photographing these three very beautiful girls. The girls didn't like to make it challenging, preferring to spend their days inconspicuously basking by the heavily used roadside. They liked to make sure the background was just right for the ultimate photo, and were known to move objects like rocks and fill Ground Squirrel holes with flowers to ensure the perfect backdrop- one that would enhance their features. Lois, Leona and Lisa absolutely thrived on their celebrity status and the fertogafers were more than happy to fawn over them. In nature, this is called a mutual relationship.

It's fair to say that the ladies greatly enjoyed their day job. It wasn’t hard being a fabulous celebrity. But their admirers rarely understood that the girls had other responsibilities. Fertogafers too easily forgot that this was 'the wild'. Beneath the fame and the sparkly white teeth they loved to show off (‘oops, is that a big, wide Y--A--W--N coming on?'), they had a responsibility to provide for Larry.

Being a great bodyguard, a prolific polygamist and reasonably good father didn’t make Larry any less lazy. Hunting and providing was a woman’s work. He intensely valued his ‘me time’, which he devoted to sun-bathing, keeping his long mane extra ‘swishy’ and maintaining beautifully manicured claws. As long as something tasty and dead came home with the girls, he didn’t mind what they spent the rest of their day doing.

The last vehicle carrying fertogafers disappeared in a cloud of dust. ‘Hunt?’, inquired Lisa. ‘Yes, let’s’, replied Leona. As they turned to walk home, they heard a rustle from the bush that they had strategically chosen to pose beside because of its 'authentic-looking' thorns. Never one to not investigate, Lois was the first to poke her muzzle in. There was indeed something under the bush! She gingerly pawed at it with her ginger paw, and much to everyone’s surprise, it rolled out from the bush and settled neatly at their feet.

The Greater Honeyguide: Exploiting its Way to a Sweet, Sweet Life

The Greater Honeyguide (indicator indicator) is a bird that stands out among Southern Africa’s bird population. It doesn’t stand out because it’s particularly pretty. In fact, some might say it borders on LBJ status. Only the male Greater Honeyguide is saved from this fate and then only by its bright pink bill. This overtly feminine bill is one of the many things in their lives that cause them much embarrassment. But they have ways of compensating.

The Honeyguide gets its name from its ability to lead specially selected animals to beehives. The Greater Honeyguide is really the only species which has been known to lead humans to beehives. The Scaly-throated Honeyguide has been credited with this behaviour, but only because it spends a great deal of time quietly observing their cousins and trying to be like them. They’ll often cheat altogether and just follow a Greater Honeyguide. This is why the Greater Honeyguide is called the Greater Honeyguide... It is greater than other Honeyguides.

So how do they lead their chosen followers to beehives? They do it by dancing… badly.

They’ll see you coming along a path, and they’ll find a spot where you’re sure to see them (they’ll call to you too) and then they’ll do a little dance. They bob up and down and flick their wings and tail here and there. It’s pretty geeky actually. The bird will also make quite the racket to accompany their dance. The Honeyguide secretly loathes this act and is terribly embarrassed by it, but has found that this is the most polite way to attract someone’s attention. It is surely more advantageous that landing atop a passer-by’s head and tapping on their nose while screeching into their ear. Once the dance is over and the attention is won, the Honeyguide promptly switches to a graceful flight in the direction of the hive. This is an attempt to redeem their crushed ego, but the damage has been done. The follower usually laughs at the bird all the way to the hive. But if the laughter stops and the Honeyguide suspects that their follower has lost interest, they resort back to their silly dance.

The Honeyguide will also perform the same dance if they happen across a Honey Badger. However, Honey Badgers can’t see or hear particularly well, and thus they don’t have the same appreciation of musical theatre and comedic performance as humanity does. The truth is, Honeyguides often go completely unnoticed by the Badger. Even if the bird did manage to capture the Honey Badger’s attention, would it really expect the badger to concentrate on the task at hand and walk in a straight line to the hive without investigating everything along the way? All Honey Badgers suffer from terrible Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). The Honey Guide would soon lose patience with the Badger and find himself physically and emotionally drained from all the embarrassing dancing he would have to do to maintain a Honey Badger’s limited attention.

So suppose the Honeyguide has successfully led you (and maybe even a Honey Badger) to a beehive. Why has he led you here? Is he being altruistic? Does he want to sit on your shoulder and sing to you, like a scene from a Disney cartoon, while you enjoy your sweet honey? The answer is ‘no’.

You’ve been led to a beehive because he longs to feverishly indulge himself in a practice called ‘cerophagy’. Simply put, the Greater Honeyguide is one of the only animals on Earth who can digest beeswax and he wants some now. He also wants the larvae and eggs inside the hive and he can’t break it open himself. Consider yourself used. How utterly noble of him.

Unlike you, Greater Honeyguides have exceptionally thick skin to protect them from bee stings and from insults directed at their dancing skills. But don’t be fooled. You’re expected to open the nest for them. And don’t think you can just walk away either. It’s believed that if you’re led to hive and you fail to open it for the Honeyguide, then next time he’ll lead you straight to a snake or a lion. Far from being superstition, this is fact. Honeyguides don’t take kindly when their efforts have been wasted. Retaliation is a possibility.

So you are forced to open the hive with your pocket-knife, suffering many stings in the process, so that the Honeyguide can feast on what he loves. Granted, he only likes the ‘yucky bits’, so you’re left with the honey all to yourself.

It is being said that Honeyguides are losing their guiding abilities, and with it their dance culture. This is largely due to the fact that humans don’t really need to go looking for honey in the bush anymore. We can buy it at Pick and Pay. So like so many other cultures in Africa, the Honeyguide culture is being eroded. The kids just don’t want to learn anymore. Why bother? Few Honeyguide children have taken up the honeyguiding tradition of their ancestors, preferring instead quick and easy ‘ready-meals’ like insects.

I own a book that encourages me to seek out the assistance of Honeyguides if I happen to be lost in the bush, because finding honey is a real ‘win’ in survival situations. But what if you’re in a survival situation and can only find one of these punk kid, fast-food eating Honeyguides who don’t know what honeyguiding is? They’ll think you’re chasing them through the bush while teasing them about their girly pink bills. The poor teenagers are awkward enough as it is, without being pursued through a thicket by a large, pocketknife wielding primate in Khakis yelling, ‘Take me to your honey! Take me to your honey!’

In ecology, the Honeyguide/ human relationship is termed ‘mutualism’. Mutual? Do you think the Honeyguide is thinking about you when he leads you to honey? No! He will find no moral objection in leading you for several hundred metres, down aardvark holes, across crocodile infested rivers to a beehive (whose owners will sting you, by the way) which lies in a tree occupied by an exceptionally angry leopard. Face it, you’re just his pawn. The Honeyguide’s motto is ‘me, me, me!’

Another case in point is their nesting behaviour, or lack of it. Honeyguides belong to a gang of birds called the ‘brood parasites’. To be initiated into this gang, a Honeyguide must shun the idea of nest building. Why waste time building nests and raising children when that time could be spent dancing badly and leading humans to leopards. Strangely, as an aspiring field guide, this reasoning is perfectly in line with my own...

So the Greater Honeyguide lays her eggs in someone else’s nest. But this can’t be just any old nest. She has a fondness for Little Bee-eaters and African Hoopoes. She’ll also target woodpeckers, barbets, kingfishers, other bee-eaters, woodhoopoes and many others. The Greater Honeyguide chooses these particular species because these all happen to be the darlings of South Africa’s birdwatching scene. Is there a little jealousy there? Spite perhaps? Possibly.

Brood parasitism can be reasonably friendly. Whydahs are also brood parasites, but their chicks blissfully co-exist with their waxbill siblings. The whole family lives happily ever after. They picnic together, they bathe in the river, they sing to each other. The same cannot be said for the Greater Honeyguide.

The Greater Honeyguide is born to exploit everything. It’s usually born before its siblings, and has time to become aware of the strange little hook on the end of its bill. When you’re born altrical, every hour of life counts, so by the time its baby brothers and sisters are born, the Honeyguide is advanced enough to use this weapon to kill them all. They lose this bill hook after about two weeks. But if they kept it into adulthood, maybe they’d be more adept at opening beehives themselves? They would certainly save themselves a lot of trouble and embarrassment in the future. Just a thought.

The poor host mother is so thrilled with her new baby that she doesn’t notice that the others have mysteriously vanished. She lovingly feeds it and tells all her friends that her baby is the ‘most beautiful baby in the world’. Her friends don’t have the nerve to say it, but they know something isn’t quite right. Mummy Hoopoe, blinded by love, takes longer to catch on. But soon enough, she’s consulting the same friends, but this time she speaks in hushed tones, “But little Henry Hoopoe is nearly three weeks old, surely he should have his crest by now?”

But Henry Hoopoe will not be abandoned by his mother, even when he’s a fully fledged Greater Honeyguide. Honeyguides will remember their parents and when the time comes to lay their own eggs, they’ll seek out someone just like ‘mom’.

Honeyguides are kudutastic. They’re a great reminder of how creative our natural world can be. They’re so successful because of their ability to exploit and manipulate the world around them. At what point did one pioneering Honeyguide see a human and think, ‘Hey, that big monkey thing has a stone tool in its hand… I bet they can help me with my little wax problem… I shall go and dance for them and see what happens…’. Honeyguides have used their intellect and their dancing skills to work their way up to a sweet, sweet life, and they deserve it. Love.

*Image is stolen from the Nashville Zoo website, until I finish painting my own Honeyguide picture...

Why the Hamerkop is Better than You

There are a select few birds in Africa that are just better than the other ones. The hamerkop (scopus umbretta) belongs to this elite little society because as a species, they possess a true self-awareness of their awesomeness. They know that they’re better than other birds. I will explain.

Birds who are comparable in size to the Hamerkop, build themselves cosy little nests. Bless their socks. Most birds build nests (unless of course you’re a brood parasite and you have better things to do with your time). Hamerkops look at the brood parasites and these other birds with their cramped, pathetic, folk-artsy type ‘nests’, and promptly turn up their noses. They may also roll their eyes.

The Hamerkop chooses his tree fork carefully. It must be large enough to accommodate the 100kg structure he plans on building in it. In addition to these requirements, he can’t do without his fresh sushi and caviar de grenouille, so he prefers waterfront properties. And his back garden must be much larger than yours.

Roughy 10,000 of the finest sticks and grasses are found, judged on their quality and added to the fork in their chosen tree and soon a colossal dome is constructed, with a diameter of about 1.5 meters. It’s the largest and most elaborate double-occupancy nest in all of nature.

But that isn’t enough for the Hamerkop. Unsatisfied with their dull and terribly ‘common’ home, the Hamerkop couple set about decorating it. Like Australia’s Bower Birds, they have developed an affection for man made objects, such as discarded handkerchiefs and the little wrappers that Beacon chocolate Easter eggs come in. These are added to the outside of the nest to assert the couple’s worldliness.

The inside of the nest consists of a grand entrance tunnel, leading to a large chamber with cathedral ceilings. Hamerkops have a unique habit of standing on each others heads, and their living space must accommodate this. The walls and floor are exquisitely carpeted with only the finest mud, ensuring the entire mansion is waterproof.

Warning: The following paragraphs refer to other birds using the Hamerkop's nest for various birdy purposes. But don't think you could get away with it like they can. You cannot. People who interfere with a Hamerkop nest WILL pay for it. When you are inevitably struck by lightning at some point in your life, all your buddies are going to know what you did to the Hamerkops. San fact #264.

Some birds are so desperate to be associated with their local Hamerkops, that you sometimes find other nests attached to the outside of a Hamerkop nest. These hangers on are attempting to social-climb and the Hamerkop will see right through it, although they do tolerate it.

But bigger birds (*cough* *OWLS* *cough*), sometimes look at their own modest nests and get jealous. They’ll sometimes attempt a takeover before the poor Hamerkops have even finished building their house, which is foolish, because if it’s not finished, it won’t yet be decorated with chocolate wrappers, and no owl possesses the knowledge to add these all-important finishing touches.

Despite having a bill somewhat reminiscent of their distant Shoebill cousins from the North (and you would NOT mess with that) and a head that can bash nails into metal, the Hamerkop doesn’t really bother to fight back.

Hamerkops seem reasonably easy going. Like an eccentric and laid back billionaire who’s conducting a routine check-up on his uninhabited Knightsbridge property and finds it has been overrun by squatters, a Hamerkop put-out by owls may protest surprisingly little at the re-appropriation. “Chin up. You silly owl squatters. Tut-tut. When you leave, I shall simply return. In the meantime, I shall build a new house- one that puts yours to shame”.

And they do. They don't seem to mind starting over, because the Hamerkop may build between three and five of these palatial homes each year. With no regard for economy, they build whether they’re breeding or not. They seem to build because they love. One bird book that I own, refers to Hamerkops as ‘DIY enthusiasts’. This is why they have named themselves the ‘Hamerkop’. The name stems from their deep-seated love of DIY and tools. This is contrary to the myth that their name comes from the shape of their head. The Afrikaans word for ‘hammer’ is ‘hamer’ and the word for ‘head’ is ‘kop’, but this is purely coincidental. Personally, I think they'd do well being called, 'chateaukops'.

So there appears to be little evolutionary explanation for their nesting behaviour. It’s suggested that these waterfront mansions serve as ‘territory beacons’, but I suggest they rather act as ‘fabulosity’ beacons, not only advertising their status, but actually allowing them to perpetuate their well-heeled lifestyle.

For example, if the Hamerkops have managed to keep their fabulous home free from owls, they use it to breed. Being wealthy, and possessing the living space, they can afford to have more children than your average wader. Their kids are exceptionally low maintenance, owing to the fact that insulation in the nest acts as a built-in nanny. So Mr and Mrs Hamerkop are free to spend their leisure time loafing about at places like Sun City, where they impress their friends and exhibit their superiority by being impeccably well-groomed, owing to a built in comb on their middle toe. They have their social traditions too. While on holiday, they'll often gather in cliques of about ten, and run around each other in circles while loudly insulting each other. "SQUAAAAAAK! My house is bigger than yours!" SQUAAAAAAK! And my children are warmer than yours!" "SQUAAAAK! My house is decorated with Lindt wrappers and yours is decorated with inferior Beacon wrappers! SQUAAAAAK!". Win.

You can’t deny it. The Hamerkop is better than you. That is all.

Hamerkop photo taken by me in Pilanesburg, Jan 2010. Hamerkop cartoon is stolen from a fabulous website called 'Birdorable', which may be the best website i've ever seen.

Darwin Day: Celebrating Countershading

It’s Darwin Day today, so I want to celebrate one of my favourite concepts in evolution- countershading!

Countershading is the most kudutastic form of camouflage seen in nature. I especially enjoy the countershading of aquatic animals.

When aquatic things are countershaded, they’re darker on their dorsal side than they are on their ventral side, which doesn’t sound too exciting.

BUT, it means that if you’re hoping to catch and eat something that benefits from countershading, you could struggle to find it. If it’s below you, its dark upper parts will help it to blend in with the dark, dark sea floor. And if it’s above you, you’ll see its light underside… or will you? Because it'll totally blend in to the sky above! Love.

Penguins are countershaded. Frogs eggs are often laid in water, so they are countershaded too. So are sharks and fish. When I told one of my friends about countershading, she went to check that the fish in her tank were countershaded. She confirmed that they were, so it’s definitely true.

It works for people too. I think I remember something on the news a few weeks ago about a company designing a countershaded wetsuit for surfers, so the sharks won’t get them. Evolving new ways to not be eaten. Life is beautiful.

My First Kiva Loan! Meet Essi...

So, my daily browse around Kiva this morning, FINALLY brought my first ever loan!

Her name is Essi and she's from Togo.

Here's a description from Kiva:

"This lady was born in Danyi and lives in the Djidjolé neighborhood. She is 29 years old and married with two children in her care.

In order to improve her children’s living conditions, she sells jewelry and flip-flops. She gets her stocks at the Grand market of Lomé and has eight years of experience in this business. She conducts her sales from her home and at the Adidogomé market."

The things that made this one 'the one':

1. She's from Togo: Long before I ever dreamed about Africa, I kept pet snakes. My favourites were Ball Pythons. I knew that most wild-caught Ball Pythons came from Togo, which is a BAD practice that I don't support, but it captured my imagination. As a kid in Canada, I couldn't imagine anywhere where Ball Pythons actually lived in the wild. I've been obsessed with Togo ever since, and have supported it at every World Cup. And 'Togo' is a really fun word to say.

2. She's a woman who is about my age. I can relate.

3. What I can't relate to is that she's worked very, very hard for 8 years and built up a successful business. She's a seriously awesome girl.

4. The description hints that the two children she cares for may not be hers. They probably are her biological children, but I like the way it's worded. People who foster, adopt and love, just rock my socks.

5. Her microfinance institution, 'Women and Associations for Gain both Economic and Social (WAGES)', seems pretty solid in their mission. And their interest rate is just 20%, which is well below the Kiva average of 37%.

6. She sells jewelry. Anything that makes people feel beautiful, is uplifting and wonderful.

7. She has the loveliest smile.

8. She may be using the loan to buy jewelry for her business, but she also sells FLIP FLOPS!!! Need I say more?

So here she is, Essi from Togo, my new partner in flip-flop sales:

Why go Jogging, When You Can Go Twirling Instead?

I live in the countryside. It's very dark at night. I'm trying to get healthy so i've been running a lot over the last few weeks. I only run at night so that no one can see me, and I avoid the main roads, so that only leaves country lanes and footpaths.

Whenever I go, I end up running face first at full speed into farm gates or stone walls, or I fall into mud puddles, trip over rocks, slip on horse poo, get snared in hedges, etc... It's not very fun.

But tonight I cracked it. I can't see where i'm going, but no one is around to see me either.

My iPod shuffle is currently loaded with Johnny Clegg and Glee songs. So tonight, after half an hour of ordinary walking, I started mouthing the words a little. Then my hands started going (i'm a geek by the way, so it's okay), then I started skipping. Then maybe a little twirl here and there...

Before long, I was a cast member in Glee. I was Johnny Clegg's backing dancer. I was totally rocking out.

I still ran into the same walls and fell into the same hedges, but I had the time of my life doing it!

Tonight I ran all the way to Port Erin, which is the nearest town. I wasn't ready to come home, so I ran to the next town. Then I danced along the beach. Then I skipped down the dark lane home. Then I got home. Then I ran back to the beach and twirled back up the lane again. Pretty awesome for someone who has struggled to find the motivation to walk a hundred meters to the end of my road.

So this could be it. I may have found the secret to finally getting healthy and loving something I previously saw as a chore. JOY. Glee. Not only that, but this is yet another way that I can embrace my utter and absolute dorkiness and my crazy beautiful love of life.

Spin, dance and twirl under the stars and smile and raise your hands at the sky :) Love love love.

Kiva or Not?

This is a rant. It's an attempt to make sense of something i've been struggling with.

I've been a Kiva member for 6 months now.

Kiva is a very awesome charity that focuses on 'micro' loans, mainly in third world countries. Simple concept: People need small loans to help their business or livelihood, so they go to a local 'field partner' and ask for one. These field partners work with Kiva (which is based in the US), and they then turn to Kiva and ask them for money to fill each loan they distribute. The individual or group requesting money has a story and photo published on the Kiva website where internet users all over the world can 'lend' as little as $25 to whichever cause they choose.

Very cool idea!

I love that it's not really 'charity'. It encourages business and development and growth, in a way that simply giving money to someone doesn't. The borrowers have to pay the money back.

But like i've said, i've been a member on the site for 6 months now- and I have yet to make a single loan. The average Kiva member supports 6 loans at a time, and many have dozens, even hundreds. I check the site each and every day, hoping to make my first loan.

I trawl through the loan requests. There may be as little as 7 loans going, or there could be thousands. Lots of choice. But I can never find one I feel passionate enough about!

I worry that i'm being too picky. I automatically search for loans in Africa. Then I often narrow it down to just women. Maybe a little sexist, but I really want to support women, especially those in countries where they're still pretty marginalized.

Tonight I saw the first South African request i've seen on Kiva. It was for a group of ladies who run a fruit and vegetable store in KZN. Just what i'm looking for! I've dropped meat recently, so fregetables are a big interest of mine right now. I also want to support something healthy. I wouldn't support a chip stand or a candy store. Fortunately, other people will.

I was really excited and about to push the button to lend my $25. Then I looked at the profile for the 'field partner' who disperses this loan. I look specifically for loans from field partners who don't put any religious or personal conditions on their loans, and this one passed that, but they charged massive interest rates. Like... massive. About 65% interest.

The average interest rate charged by field partners at Kiva is about 37%. That's a lot, but given the costs of running the things they run, it's acceptable. But 65% is crazy. I can't see how a loan with such a huge interest rate can have its benefits outweigh it's costs. I don't know much about these things. But I do know that one of my closest family members is in serious trouble with credit card debt. She has it hanging over her. It's stressful. She'll never pay it back. I can imagine many people who apply for Kiva loans must feel the same way. This group of South African woman may feel the same way. At the same time, they may not. This loan may be the biggest blessing of their lives and they'll pay it back (including the whopping interest) with ease. It may kick-start their business and change every single aspect of their lives for the better.. and yet, I couldn't take the chance.

I nearly supported the loan anyway. I wanted to do it. It checked all of my other boxes. But I couldn't do it.

At least on Kiva, all loans are filled within a day. As i've been writing this, the entire $3000 requested by my group was raised and the loan is no longer available. It's that fast. That's how generous and loving the world is. It's awesome. So any loan I pass up on is filled within a few hours.

But I still feel guilty. I feel like i'm putting too many conditions on giving. Is it right to be waiting to the 'ultimate' loan? I want to contribute to a cause I feel passionate about and support someone whose progress I can follow and I want to celebrate their success with them. At the same time, money sitting in my bank account isn't helping anyone else, when it could be.

http://www.kiva.org/

What is Reality?

Caught this on BBC the other week and i've watched it about 19 times since then.

So much goodness!

I totally love the theory that everything we know is just a hologram being projected from some two dimensional surface at the edge of the universe. Wouldn't it be great if that proved true?

And why did no one ever tell me about the double-slit experiment? So these teeny electrons KNOW when they're being watched? They know! The implications of this are insane- insanely awesome.

So do things come into existence as we look at them? Is our universe what it is just because we're looking further and further into it? Are we actually making it ourselves?

I've had a basic understanding of Schrodinger's cat before now, and i've always enjoyed thinking about that 'if a tree falls and no one hears it...', thing. Imagine if those things are true? They really could be! Score.

Things like these make me wish I had spent more time actually paying attention to Philosophy when I studied it for two years at St. Andrews. And now I feel bad about calling it 'philoscopopy' for those two years, because I couldn't spell or say 'philosophy'. Surprisingly, I was a star student and averaged about 80% across my various philoscopopy courses...

... For kicks, I've just looked up the word 'philoscopopy', to see if it actually means anything, and it turns out it doesn't.

But how kudutastic is this? 'Phylloscopus' is a word. Not only is it a word, but it's the scientific name for the warbler family. So technically, 'phylloscopopy' should refer to the study of warblers. If 'ornithology' didn't already cover it...

Spektacular Spekboom!

Spekboom is a sprawling shrub found in South Africa, especially in the Eastern Cape where it pretty much dominates everything else. In Addo Elephant Park, Spekboom covers 80% of the landscape, so the elephants are literally up to their necks in it all the time, which works well because they love the stuff.

'Spekboom' translates to 'pork bush', but it's rather a reference to the fat leaves on the plant. It's very gooey and aloeish and if done properly, you can make the little rounded leaves pop, which is extremely satisfying.

And it's delicious! Double win! One of its quirks is that it tastes much more acidic in the morning than it does in the evening. I have tested this. The leaves taste a lot like acidic peas. Nobody likes acidic peas, but when you're out in the bush, the leaves are like chocolate. Chocolate that grows on trees. This is so wonderful that my mind can't process it. I once sat at the Addo hide with two plain pieces of bread, which I proceeded to fill with Spekboom leaves that I had plucked from the bush beside me, as onlookers gasped in horror. I can assure you that it's quite good in sandwiches... and as a result, I had the hide during prime viewing hours, all to myself!

Spekboom also works well as natural fencing. It effectively blocks views, but doesn't dampen the sound of your elderly campsite neighbours playing swing music and generally being rowdy. And the walls don't stop monkeys from stealing kitchen utensils, like Sporks.

It's wonderfully adapted to living in Addo and it has to be. Addo has a lot of elephants. And I mean A LOT. They eat a lot of Spekboom. Fortunately, Spekboom has the ability to grow without having to plant seeds anywhere. A branch gets snapped off by an elephant, falls on the ground and a new Spekboom bush starts growing. Beautiful. This feature makes it very beneficial to the environment, because it can grow from nothing in horribly unfavourable conditions. Useful when you have a patch of arid land you need to regenerate. Love.

My Binoculars are LOVE

I'm a birdwatcher so binoculars are really important to me. These ones have completely changed my life. I'm quite blind and through these, an entire world I couldn't see before, has opened up to me.

I carry them everywhere. They mean the world to me. I named them 'Wally'. They fit so beautifully in my hand, which is great because that's where they'll be for the next 30 years or so. My binoculars are LOVE.

Wally (Swarovski EL 8x32):

Early Childhood: 27 Little Things

Since i've been working with children again, i've been making a conscious effort to always remember what makes them tick. When i'm playing with D (3 years old), I know that for the rest of his life, he'll remember what it feels like to squash Play-Doh between his fingers, even if he never did it again.

What are the little things that tiny kids live for and look forward to each day? What objects bring the most comfort, joy and familiarity? What smells and what sensations will they remember for the rest of their lives? I think this was one of my biggest failings the last time I worked with children. I didn't remember these things. I was just an adult, acting as an adult interacting with a child. I wasn't a child myself. I didn't think about how each little word, object, action and feeling shapes who they are and who they'll become. You can't understand what they go through unless you can remember what it was like.

So i've been working on a list of the little things that I loved and lived for when I was very small. No one will understand this list but me, and I hope that i'll never forget any of these treasured little memories.

1. Lego trees. My Grandma had a killer Lego collection. Very, very cool Grandma.

2. Jodie's basement: Fisher Price roller skates, mini hockey sticks, the spikey roof that sparkled, jumping from the top step.

3. "Don't touch the bait"

4. McDonald's cheeseburgers (no sauce, made to order) on the conference table at Daddy's office.

5. The dark hallway at the Museum of Nature that led to the dinosaur exhibit

6. Being called up to collect Brownie badges that were stapled to little yellow pieces of paper. I was a badge whore and I had to have them ALL.

7. The round, silver radiators with the little round holes in them, along every wall at Ottawa Airport. Walking on them, sitting on them, sliding on them, talking into them.

8. Counting herons on the way to church. The smell of the paper mill across the river in Quebec that accompanied these first forays into birdwatching.

9. Care Bear books at the library.

10. My Sesame Street book. The one where you had to place your nose or fingers on little coloured circles. So much satisfaction.

11. Grandma's hamburger phone. (Cool Grandma- see above)

12. Being yelled at by my ballet teacher when practicing our routine to 'Locomotion'. Believing the woman who sang the Locomotion song sounded really angry herself...

13. Reader's Digest Guide to the Wildlife of North America. Always checking to see if bears lived in my area.

14. The pet store at the 'brown shopping centre' in Montreal. Always full of monkeys for sale. Long before ethics.

15. Metallic turquoise horizontal blinds. The sound they made when I trailed my finger across them. The way they bounced back into shape.

16. Climbing the climbing structure at the Boston Children's Museum. Parents had to use stairs to get to the next level. Me? I could just climb.

17. Lake Placid and my Lake Placid Bumper sticker with the hologram rainbow and hearts on it. It was the most beautiful thing i'd ever seen in my life.

18. Whenever my dad came home from a business trip, i'd wake up the following morning with a new Barbie doll propped up on the floor by my door. The doll always corresponded to where he had been. 'California Barbie', for example.

19. Building 'buses' at church using chairs. Boarding these buses. Sitting at the back.

20. The downfall and resulting moral teachings of Sidney the Squirrel. On cassette each night before bed.

21. A tiny fuzzy sticker of a baby seal. The softest sticker ever.

22. "What's under Bob's cushion?" After MASH and before Star Trek. Usually while watching my dad eat a bag of Hostess BBQ Ruffles chips.

23. Being lifted up by my mother to push the brightly coloured buttons on the ATM at TD Bank. They made the most wonderful beeps i've ever heard. Love.

24. The smell of cheap shoes at Giant Tiger

25. Construction paper: ripping it, cutting it with safety scissors, gluing it to stuff, always being left with brown after the nice colours had been used up.

26. The IGA grocery store Cookie Club. "I am a child. I am at the grocery store. Give me a free cookie."

27. Boppin' Away: The song. The hot pink cassette it came on. The idea that Barbie herself sang it. The fact that this was my only cassette with actual music, and not bible stories on it. "A smile will set you free." Embedding disabled, but here, if you must. And you must: BOPPIN' AWAY

Watch the cucumber. See how he moves.

Lots of people do really cool things at university. I watched a lot of Veggie Tales.

Dance. Dance. Yeah.

"But I must go into the world and do noble things for the good of all. And you can't come because you don't speak French."

Must-must.

Learn From My Fail

"Never say that you'll buy someone lunch at a reasonably up-market restaurant, if they'll go wearing a smelly Ozzy Osboune wig with little bits of garbage in it. They will do it. Especially if they're from Yorkshire."

-Yesterday at the Sound cafe

Kibo OWNS Addo Elephant Park

When I paint, I look to nature for inspiration. For the last few months, Kibo the Brown Hooded Kingfisher has slowly established himself as an absolute LEGEND, by spending much of his day perched in front of the webcam at Addo Elephant Park. I have no doubt that he knows what he's doing. Such a poser. He owns it and he knows it.

So Kibo becomes my latest painting. The piece is entitled: 'addo cam: Jan-29, 2011 - 20:58:30 - submitted by Moose'

And here he is doing what he does best- being kudutastically AWESOME:

The things that make me laugh...

I know this is bad, and I do feel a little sorry for this TV channel, but it's also completely epic.

My childhood in a bottle...

I just found this on youtube! Nostalgia WIN. This was the first Barbie doll I was ever given. I'd only had plastic dinosaurs until this. It came with a little bottle of 'perfume' and I remember waiting weeks and weeks to get the courage and then finally downing the bottle in one gulp. Some tastes stay with you forever.

Expressing emotions and feelings and stuff through 'art' and dots

Last year I went to visit my dad, who now lives in Melbourne, Australia. The National Gallery there was full of the most incredible art (in the aboriginal section at least). I was utterly inspired. Having struggled for weeks to find a wedding present for my dad, I decided i'd paint one. I can't paint. But I found an art form I could use without knowing how to paint. My 'art' was born. I painted a possom that we'd had in our attic the week before. I put lots of meaning and imagery into it and just kept making little dots. It's all about the dots...

First Step: Eight things about me that shaped who I am...

1. I am 27. I have been alive for 27 years. At 19, I was told by a doctor at my university that i'd only live to 25. I think she was joking in reference to the fact that my diet consisted nearly entirely of doughnuts. I hadn't eaten a vegetable since early childhood. But anyway, if I end up living to the respectful age of 54, then my life is already half-over. So here at 27, my mid-life crisis is in full swing. I'm embracing it.

2. Today i've reformed my eating habits to an extent. Despite living for nearly 25 years on a diet of sugar and sugar, with people always telling me, "Oooh, i'm warning you, when you hit 13 (or 16, 18, 21) it'll all catch up with you", I weigh the same now as I did when I was 12.

3. I have lived in at least 30 houses in my 27 years. In every single house since I was 3, without fail, as soon as I moved in, I determined which spot in the house would be most appropriate to hide in during a) a T-Rex attack and b) a velociraptor attack. In my current house, a) is in the back garden, between the fence and the house. If you don't move, T-Rex can't see you and I think he'd get hurt if he tried to squeeze into the space. It just wouldn't be worth his while. B) To hide from a velociraptor, i'd hide in the attic in the space above the garage. If it managed to get into the attic, I could drop into the garage and stand a greater chance of survival. As i've grown up, i've realized that if the velociraptors have made it into your house, your situation is pretty much hopeless. Growing up can be so soul-crushing.

4. When I was a child, I was obsessed with dinosaurs. All of my walls were plastered with dinosaurs. All my clothes had dinosaurs on them. People thought I was a boy. The first word I ever spelled was Tyrannosaurus Rex. I could spell that before I could spell my own name. I'm not being sarcastic. This is true. Ask my parents.

(This guy is a real candidate for 'Creepy Santas')

5. Until I was 12 and I visited the NASA space centre in Florida, I firmly believed I had been to Mars. I should have known better, but it's just not something I ever thought through critically. When I was about 3, my parents took me to the CN tower in Toronto, where they had one of those simulator rides, to 'Mars' of all places. I thought it was real and no one ever corrected me. When people would talk about space exploration, I never understood why they thought it was so difficult. The portal is right there in downtown Toronto. I've been to Mars, you can too. What's the big deal?

6. My earliest childhood memory: When I was 2, I took at ride in a helicopter. The floor was glass, but I thought it was just open to the air below. I was worried that my grey boots were going to fall into Lake Ontario.

7. When I was a baby I had sticky-out ears. I had plastic surgery when I was 4 and in junior kindergarden. I can remember having a bandage around my head just like the child in the hospital logo, which made me feel extra special. I also remember being put under anesthetic for the surgery. I was told the gas would smell like cherries. It smelled like mint. I remember screaming 'it's mint! i'm allergic to mint!'. Then I woke up with ears that society was more likely to accept. Today, whenever i'm forced to play 'two truths and a lie', I always use 'i've had plastic surgery'.

8. I spent my childhood obsessed with snakes. When I realized I couldn't own a dinosaur, this was just the next step. My first snake was a black and white California Kingsnake. I think I was 10. His name was 'Teddykaapingubear', because I wanted to call him 'Teddy Bear', but equally I wanted to name him after my favourite cartoon snake, 'Kaa', and Pingu, because Pingu was also black and white. I was a smart kid. Teddykaapingubear was the first of about 20 pet snakes.

Fresh Fresh Start

I've been keeping a blog for years and years. Sometimes I lose interest, but I always come back. But I think I hold a record. No one has ever read my blog! I have access to stats that tell me this. At the time I wrote it, I wanted people to read it. I had an audience in mind. I imagined all of my friends would read it. I had it linked to my Facebook account and linked on the forums I visit.

But since 2005, i've had TWO people visit my blog. Has anyone ever written a blog with just two hits? How is that possible? Not being stalked is awesome and something to be thankful for. I can be reassurance that nobody has ever stalked me! But at the same time, everyone secretly wants someone to stalk them.... just a little bit. Over the years, the handful of people who I suspected might be stalking me, in fact, weren't. And certainly, no one of those few people who i've ever wanted to be stalked by, has stalked me. One visitor to my old blog was my mother, who shamelessly seeks me out of the internet, instead of just asking me about my life. The other was a stranger from New Jersey who left a comment reading, 'don't be so sure that no one reads your blog!' Actually, I am so sure...

So i've archived and deleted the old blog, which was mostly a sea of negativity. It was a pretty big wake up call! A good reminder of the bad things i've left behind in favour of a life filled with love and joy. I'd leave it up, but it just doesn't reflect who I am anymore, and much of it is pretty unpleasant. I'll keep it to myself.

If no one read my previous blog, I can't imagine that changing now. But that's an advantage. Writing for an external audience restricts you somewhat. So my new blog is then for me and me alone. The audience I write for is myself. I can write about things that won't make the tiniest amount of sense to anyone but me- Hooray! It's a collection of my thoughts and a celebration of the things in this life that I absolutely love, from the smallest to the biggest. It's another way I can know myself and understand what makes me who I am. Like a diary (but with very cool photos and videos- score!) this is something I can look back to again and again and smile the biggest smile.