Tracy Engelbrecht's Blog, page 13

Conversations with myself; every day twice a day

Click on the pic below to see inside my head nice & zoomed in

Look away now, nerd alert

Have been far away from blogging, Facebook & Twitter for days now. It's been a good break.

Instead, I've been immersed in the sticky tangly venus-fly-trappy branches of my very neglected family tree.

Started research 8 years ago (wow) and have pretty much gone as far as I can go with the resources I have. To break down the brick walls I'm stuck with will require any or all of the following:

a) wads of cash to buy gazillions of (likely) useless online subscriptions to various genealogy websites

b) wads of cash to buy the services of a professional paid-by-the-hour professional genealogist who will just go and look in the same places I will anyway. All of the pain of paying for it, none of the satisfaction of discovering the info

c) wads of unbelievable luck when  the 100th gazillionith time I search for the same names on the same site that I've been searching for them for eight years, they're ACTUALLY FRIKKING THERE.

That doesn't happen, ever. Except it did this weekend. And now I know that my 6x great-grandparents were probably called Moses Danielse van der Kaap & Anna Sophia Eermeyer / Neermeyer / Niedermeyer (John-Jacob-Jingleheimer-Schmidt and so on). They were (I hope I'm not premature in saying this) the parents of my 5x great-grandfather Daniel Danielsz. He and his wife Wilhelmina Magdalena Adamse had loads of children and vanished from the records without leaving much of a trace, besides a barely legible will in Dutch. Their daughter Petronella Maria married into the Boonzaaier family and from there on there is plenty of info to be had.

As poor fishermen, netmakers, ex-slaves and labourers living in the Riebeek Street area in Cape Town, there isn't much information left about their families. Not famous enough, not rich enough, not anything enough. Not worth remembering, to most  people.

Years of painstakingly collating info on all the people with even vaguely similar names, living in the same area, got me to a point where I knew that Daniel's father was probably called Moses. Daniel is often referred to as "Daniel Danielsz Moses Zoon" (s0n of Moses). But no Moses of the right generation was to be found. And there I sat.

Until I checked FamilySearch.org for the gazillionth time to find it had changed completely, and now offers actual JPG images to download of the Dutch Reformed Church registers at the Cape of Good Hope. These jpgs are much better as you can also see the names of the witnesses to the event; names which are usually left off when transcribing docs. Witnesses are usually siblings, parents, cousins  etc of the family in question. So you've got this whole other avenue of investigation to follow – names which can lead you back to the people you're looking for. This, in case you haven't caught on to my frantic raving, is a BIG FRIKKING DEAL. (To me. At least. Not to you, I'm sure. You just think I could use some fresh air and a nice jog, or something.)

So Moses & Anna were witnesses to the christening  of some of their grandchildren, giving me a direct link from my known family to them. I'd love to post the jpg here but for Familysearch copyright and all, so I can't.

I guess it makes me a terrible nerd to get such a thrill from spotting the names of people 200 years removed from me.

I can live with that.

In case you're interested, this is where you'll find me lurking:

 

http://ancestry24.com/

http://www.national.archsrch.gov.za/sm300cv/smws/sm300dl

https://familysearch.org/search/collection/show#uri=https%3A%2F%2Fapi.familysearch.org%2Frecords%2Fcollection%2F1478678

http://www.tanap.net/content/activities/documents/Orphan_Chamber-Cape_of_Good_Hope/index.htm

What I did on my hols

Am on leave. Am not resting much. Got bags under eyes which weren't there before I went on leave. This wasn't really the idea.

Night before: Conor's school talent show, night one. School is seventeen light years away from home. Leave early, get home late, in between, slight crisis when someone fiddles with Stuart* and Stuart loses an arm. Angry Conor. Sad Stuart, I imagine.

Yesterday: dreaded phone call from school, please fetch him, he's hurt his arm. Conor, not Stuart; although there are striking similarities.

Another seventeen light years of travelling with added panic, alleviated somewhat by his explanatory tweets. Apparently one was swinging one's walking stick to hit a ball, as one does when one is THIS one, and one's arm went G-R-R-R-E-R-K. Ouch ensued.

One's walking stick, you understand, which one's mother has always expressly forbidden one from taking out in public, and which one only did this time as it's a prop for the talent show. See above. One is okay though, one tweets.

So, conscious and with the full complement of limbs, then. But not for long,sonny.

Arrive to find this:

Drama. And angst.

 

So off the casualty to get checked out. We have to take Stuart* along, as he's also in the talent show and will not be able to get there by himself. Clearly.

Hour long wait at casualty, nurses and doc seem most uninterested. I'm not usually a stroppy patient or customer and don't ever mind waiting for stuff as I understand about procedures and that I'm not, in the great scheme of things, more special than anyone else. This time, I was hungry, tired, cold, just barely dressed (having almost forgotten to change out of comfy pj pants when leaving the house in a panic) and facing down the prospect of NOT being able to go home again before talent show. I was cross and mean.

Conor keeps saying he's fine, let's just go. Motherly duty won't allow me to leave a hospital with a child who has not been seen by a doctor, even though the oddly swollen shoulder is shrinking all the time and feeling better, apparently. So we wait. Eventually someone notices we're alive (just in time) and so we spend 2 minutes with doc who says it's just a sprain and not dislocated but by the way have you even broken your clavicle cos one side is much bigger than the other? Um, no? Not as far as I know, I sputter unconvincingly (to my own ears, at least)

Doc may have thought I doth protesteth too much cos he gave me a strange look, probably calling the social workers as soon as we left. Unexplained broken bones and a mother with a crazed look in her eye, looks like she hasn't bathed in a week? Ja…. suspicious.

Fast forward to  home time, past dodge Engen meat pies, dodge looks at the skanky looking mother lurking around outside school smelling like meat pies, painkillers and a number of boys who seemed to be TRYING to hit me with their soccer ball. Plus the show, of course.

Gotta bring Stuart home with us again, he's staying for the holidays, poor dear. Discover that some cruel joker gave him  a Hitler moustache and the unfortunate soul didn't even know it was happening. There was also a tense moment when my mom was moving Stuart from one car to the other and the police drove past. I think they were looking for me, the collar-bone breaking mother. They saw Stuart being moved and probably went off to secure a more comprehensive search warrant.

He's happy now, in his little spot. Conor is Ibuprofen'd up to the eyeballs and is also, obviously, happy.

I have washed, and slept. So I am also happy. Handbag still smells like meat pies but one can't have everything.

 

Stuart. I swear he looked like this when we got him

Happy birthday Conor!

Happy dance! Am on leave for a week, so very very happy about that. Got lots to do to prepare for our next Young Moms meeting on Saturday.

And of course today it's my boy Conor's 17th birthday.

Thank you for being who you are, dear boy

A human being of quality, character and devastating good looks (hehe) who I used to call my Munchkin. You came into the world calmly, wide awake and aware, and everything was suddenly right.

Keep doing what you're doing, keep being who you are. How you turned out as well as you have, I can't quite say.

Life is good, life is better, life is what it's meant to be, with you around. Couldn't do without you.

Love you mein stinker.

xx

Next meeting : 16 April

Next Young Moms Support meeting:

16 April 2011 10h30 – 12h30

False Bay Hospital Hall, 17th Avenue, Fish Hoek

No charge!

All young & teen moms and their children are welcome to attend for a morning of support, friendship, encouragement and learning.

We will be joined by Pat Coombe of The Parent Centre who will be speaking on Positive Discipline for your little ones.

 

Most of our moms are on the "older" end of the young moms scale – late teens / early twenties.

We are actively looking to encourage younger moms to join us – those young teenage girls who might not have the resources or confidence to reach out to us on their own. If you know of girls in the area who would benefit, please tell them about us.

Please share this post with your contacts on Facebook, Twitter, via email etc.

We need to get famous! Dreaming big and thinking big is the only way to make this happen.

Thank you dears. Much loveness.

 

 

 

 

Young Moms in KZN & a small favour

Well done to Michelle Roberts on her first successful Young Moms Support group meeting in Pinetown.

So proud of you, keep it up and it will grow, you'll see.

Check out Michelle's pics on the group's Facebook page here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?id=166518180067071&aid=52832

 

Also, the next Young Moms meeting in Fish Hoek is :

Sat 16 April 10h30 – 12h30

All young moms are welcome.

Then, I have 3 things to ask of you lovely humans:

1. We're especially wanting to encourage the very youngest moms to join – those young girls who might not have the resources or confidence to reach out to a stranger for help on their own.

We need help to find those moms in the community.

If you have ideas on how we can do this, please drop me a line and let me know.

2. Am starting to give some thought to growing the group into other areas – we've started very local and small but it's not enough. World domination blueprints most welcome!

3. The biggest one: We need to get our message and our name out there. We want to be famous! We need the community, the country, the whole damn world to know what we're doing and that it's important. So we need people with VOICES to talk about us. Online, at work, school, radio, TV, newspapers – wherever. We need YOUR voice to add to ours. Are youm loud and talkative? Do you have gazillions of Twitter followers or FB friends or actual real humanoid friends who will listen when you talk? Tell them about us, please.

Thank you darlings.

 

 

 

 

Sneaky pics

Sneaky old Conor pics. Been expressly forbidden by Layla to post any baby pics of her. But she graciously allowed me to go wild with Conor's photos. And…… go!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BOOBIES!

It was a dark and stormy night….,

Hang about, no – it wasn't. It was a perfectly ordinary, mild, boringly unstormy night. Against all narrative tradition, there was no meteorological hint  whatsoever of the ensuing weirdness, not even a portentous comet or nothing. Quite a let down, if I may say so. There is such a thing as *style*after all, she muttered reproachfully.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, however, it would be a night to remember. It was, the night of (dun-dun-DUUUUUUNNNN) - Gr 11 parent-teacher meetings…

We had the idea that for ONCE in our lives we'd leave a bit later and not be 2 hours early. Due to traffic, we ended up being a bit late, a huge deal for us punctual OCD-er's. (Gaaaaah! Panic! Tension! Clenched Jaws! Inter-vehicular tension you could cut with a knife)

Awesome feat of forward-planning (i.e. loo visit before leaving) negated by extra long drive & bouncing up and down in seat to make surrounding cars go faster. Eventually arrive, mood shattered & bladder in shock. Snipe snipe snark.

Long story short. 5 minutes with each teacher – smile, nod, no questions from my side, thank you bye. Then Amazing Race-like sprint across to other side of school in unsuitable heels to meet next teacher, smile, nod and so on.

Our turn at the Maths guy was rudely usurped by a large bearded father we named Bruce the Usurper who pushed his way arrogantly in front of us in a way that he probably thinks makes him look commanding at his tile and sanitaryware showroom but in fact makes him look like a rude bearded usurping twat only. Conor made some aggrieved noises just out of earshot but stopped when he saw just how large and bearded Bruce the Usurper was.

Eventually make way round to final teacher, originally 2nd teacher but line was too long. 40 people at least; almost no exaggeration.

Get there, line is STILL 40 deep. Grumpy parents, sullen teenagers. Much sighing and irritable tweeting.

Would you believe, Bruce the Usurper bested us again! Pushed his way in front, no doubt a very busy man, much urgency in the world of pipes and bidets, I'm sure.

Finally, the last 2 families in the queue. Us and Conor's friend. I'm standing there, fidgeting nervously, trying to maintain a discreet distance, not wanting to look like a chump and not wanting to be one of THOSE parents who either

a) act all over-familiar and awkward around their child's friends and make said friends feel sorry for said children

or

b) come over all stern and forbidding and make said friends feel sorry for said children

 

Suddenly, out of the blue and not at all in an awkward way, Said Friend looks at me and exclaims: "BOOBIES!"

What? confusion reigns. Could she be talking about MY boobies? Surely not, I've only just met her. And my boobies are not really much of a conversation starter, it must be said. I sneak a look chestwards just in case I've sprung a bra-wire or something, but nothing doing.

Yes, it was Boobies, she said. Boobies boobies boobies!

"Be sure to maintain eye contact", she warns. Don't look at the BOOBIES!

With this ominous warning ringing in my ears, Bruce the Usurping Twat swaggers off and it's our turn.

hOorah!

And then, I'm caught entirely off-guard by – you guessed it – the BOOBIES. Prodigious and impressive. A DEFINITE conversation-starter. And stopper. And everything-in-betweener.

They're all I can see for miles around. They're all I can focus on. All I can think about. I hear the teacher speaking in the background but it's all just so much muffled mumbling; all of existence has been usurped by the boobies I'm not supposed to be paying any attention to. boobies boobies boobies

I don't know what was said really. I may have said boobies when I trying to explain that I was indeed his mother and not his sister.

Don't think I made a very good impression. But no fear!

Next time will be better. I shall visit the loo before, not be late, not wear unsuitably high shoes for running in, and wear dark boobage-shielding glasses to protect my vision and train of thought. And dignity.

At least know now why Bruce the Usurper was so keen to get to the front of the line.

 

 

Why is STUPID so loud?

Quick recap for those who don't know and haven't been bored to tears by this already:

I was once a teen mom, long ago. Ja, big deal, old news. These days I'm trying to support young mothers in my community, in a way that I would have wished for many years ago. A very simple idea.

I seem to be labouring under the sad misapprehension that most people are inherently good and nice and think that what I'm doing is a good and nice idea. However. Too often there are nasty shocks and I reel at the gobsmacking, flabbergasting, knicker-knotting bitchiness of some apparent humans.

There are people who think that by providing a safe place and encouraging place for young mothers to meet and BE ORDINARY MOTHERS, I am shepherding an entire generation of gormless young tarts towards general knocked-upped-ness and a bon-bon noshing, grant-supported life of leisure. With YOUR tax ronts, nogal!

Now.

This is what I know:

1. There is a lot of STUPID in the world

2. STUPID and CRAZY make a lot more noise than INTELLIGENT, SANE or even VAGUELY RATIONAL

3. I'm not supposed to listen to STUPID or CRAZY, or mistake it for an opinion that actually carries any weight

4. I'm not supposed to care what STUPID or CRAZY thinks, and I'm certainly not supposed to let it affect my determination to do the work I'm trying to do

5. I'm DEFINITELY not supposed to let STUPID or CRAZY affect my own sense of self-worth, and mostly that works, but on a bad PMS day, for example, SUPPOSED TO doesn't always cut it

6. Sometimes, some of the people I am trying to help might not seem to "deserve" it – they won't always have the right ideas, or behave in the way I'd like them to. They won't always do the right thing. This is not supposed to deter me from trying to help them, or from helping others if I can't get through to them. If you get knocked by an individual who's not behaving correctly, you're supposed to keep trying. That's what NOT STEREOTYPING means.

7. STUPID and CRAZY hang out in the comments sections of news websites & SMS columns in local newspapers. Best to avoid those places unless you LIKE aneurysms.

 

Here's what I DON'T KNOW:

Is it better to ignore STUPID & CRAZY altogether, and quietly carry on with the business of trying to do right, as I'm doing? Quiet diplomacy has it's plus-side; it means you don't have to engage with the loons – a fruitless exercise anyway – but it does bring with it a shiteload of repressed anger and stomach ulcers eventually.

OR

Does it only feel like there is so much of badness because the good voices don't talk loud enough?

Must you shout louder than STUPID can shout?

Do you make a noise and say LISTEN TO ME, MESSRS STUPID & CRAZY, you vacuous, vitriolic, bad-spelling motherfuckers you?

Do you demand to be heard? Or do you go about your business regardless, your energy best spent on doing the actual work than preaching to the choir or trying to minister to the heathens?

Which choice serves us better? Which choice means fewer depressed and desperate young girls? Fewer abandoned babies, fewer lives which can't get back on track after a detour?

 

Tell me what to do.

In the meantime – here is a nifty poll. Just gimme an answer. Tell me if you think that by providing support of any kind to teenage mothers, we are encouraging teenage pregnancy. You know what I think. You couldn't have missed it really.

Now tell me what you think.

 

Go ahead. Make my day.

 

 

 

View This Poll
customer surveys

 

And the winner is….

 

 

Sandra Dauncey!

Congrats, you win 2x tickets to Cirque Du Soleil at Grand West on 26 March 2011

Your tickets will soon be in your grubby paws!

Thank you to EVERYBODY who bought tickets and supported us – your help will make a difference to the lives of our young moms.

Thank you to Logan who very kindly and diligently picked the winning ticket out of the hat!

 

Logan picking the winning ticket - eyes closed!

 

 

 

And the winner is... Sandra!