I don't have any grandparents (except for one really funky step-grandmother). Two thirds of them died before I was born, and the last died when I was in school. Cancer ... a real problem in our family. Grandpa Ken was the last to go. I remember vividly his journey - fraught with pneumonia every winter, prostate cancer was eventually the killer. I remember many visits to the hospital thinking that this visit was the last and he'd be gone soon. I remember how he stuck on to his life. As a resolute accountant and ex-British soldier, he hung on. And he hung on. It was painful. There were times we had wished he would just let go, and rest.

Standing at his deathbed, I had remarked to my mom how much Grandpa Ken had held on. She reflected on how different the story was with her mom (his wife), and how quickly and easily she had journeyed to her final rest. She said, "It's like she knew where she was going, and that made it easier to go. But it seems Grandpa Ken doesn't have the same assurance".

This memory surfaced today as I listened to Redi Direko talk about Baby Amillia who is the fourth smallest baby and earliest surviving premature baby.  read more »

It's been 10 years since I left the dingy hallways of High School . If someone back then had told me that, in 10 years, I would be working for myself, have a couple of degrees, be doing work that none of my teachers knew existed, write down most of my thoughts online (instead of in a journal) and be 702's next talk-show host ... what?! splutter? cough! choke?!

Okay, well not quite. But I would sure as hell have been floored by the notion that I'd even be listening to 702 on a daily basis. 702? Oh yes, that dodgy radio station my parents insisted on listening to while I was in the car. The same station that skimped on marketing budgets and got their hosts to read out every add instead of paying snazzy professionals to do so. The same station that did not play (much) music! Aaargh! Now, as the years have had their toll on my maturity and discerning ear, 702 Talk Radio is my preferred station. 10 years back I would have spat on the ground and called him heathen for uttering such trash!

But wait, maybe quite! The aforementioned station is now on the look-out for bright, upstart talent and I'm backing myself for such a role. It's the next evolution in my passion for conversations. Who knows, perhaps I'll be the next culprit for a whole generation of kids resenting their parents for listening to talk radio in the car on the way to, and way back, from school? Or, perhaps I'll be the next John Robbie ...

... till Sam and I get married.

And I write this with trepidation. Not because I'm getting cold feet, but because I'm visualising you reading this post on marriage and thinking, "Been there, done that, come join the Lonely Hearts Club when the sex runs dry!". Or you might be thinking, "Aargh, not another one to hit the dust ... the Single Lonely Hearts club is really dwindling!"

Antics aside, I've wanted to write this post for a while, but have resisted because it runs the risk of being another boring "these are my thoughts on marriage" post.

But thanks to Ol' Stopforth and his sage-like wisdom (offered while buying stale popcorn for the Tenacious D movie this morning), "It is your day ... everyone else can get stuffed!"  read more »

One of the forms of narrative that is capturing my attention, and weaving its way into my writing, is that of the public narrative. The public narrative is the evolving story of an individual that makes it into the public limelight for a particular reason. Current examples that come to mind are the local public narratives of Police Commissioner Selebi, Schabir Shaik, Jacob Zuma. There are also great examples of global narratives of George W. Bush and Tiger Woods, to name but a few.  read more »