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         - Hello there . . .

         - Inside Story

         - Tread Carefully If You're a Parent

         - Optimism Can Make Life Better

         - eNonyMouse - more optimism

         - And Then There Was Pookie

         - Lifestyling

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…you with the stars in your eyes, a grasshopper brain and thoughts without boundaries…

This month I need to deal with so many administrative details there will hardly be time to get in a good moan - and I certainly intend to so let me get the whining done first.

Just when I thought I had NewbiesAndNitwits.com sorted out the group, which hosts the site, announced it would be dispensing with hosting as from July 31, which means I will probably have to do all those 'pages' again. I feel like screaming. First of all it took forever for me to adapt things to their system, then they changed the system so I had to redo most of it, and now....GRRR!

So it's not surprising this issue is a little overloaded with the 'thinking good thoughts' angle - because I'm trying to convince myself - with difficulty. However don't despair, although Melvin Durai's theme is Optimism Can Make Life Better it's not all sweetness and light and should make you smile.

Then Jim Allen asks us to question what is most important - one's life or one's lifestyle? The right thoughts in that direction should surely take some pressure off...

I have decided to rerun And Then There Was Pookie which is the first in a series of articles about living with a vervet monkey - and as I write there is a blank in the Table of Contents, currently labelled DO Something. At this stage I have no idea what to do but I'm sure inspiration will come tomorrow.

Judging by the muttering Griselda is also battling with Inside Story, but rest assured, she is sure to come up with some scurrilous content.

And now the boring admin. Last month there was a high number of 'bounces' (non delivery usually due to a full mailbox) and in a panic I sent a message to the list asking subscribers to let me know if they had not received their copy of 'Pearls & Pigs' - forgetting that the people who had 'bounced' weren't going to receive that message either as I hadn't reactivated them via Topica. So if you didn't receive the March issue, and still want to please write to me at mailto:sheldene@icon.co.za.

However, having sent that useless message to those who should have received their copy, without problems, I heard from several people who had not. Which was a bit of a shock.

In future I will send an email a few days after I have posted the current issue, which will simply say 'Did you get it?'

If you are using a free email service such as Hotmail, with Junk Mail filters, it is a good idea to check your Junk Mail regularly. I have a couple of Hotmail accounts and although I have done everything I should to ensure this does not happen, a number of the lists I subscribe to still end up in my Junk Mail folder.

If some of your mail has gone missing please check this out. (I can't bear to think my efforts are going STRAIGHT into a trash can.)

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NEWBIES, NERDS & NITWITS
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I 'M sure I have pointed out before that one has to be equipped with fur and four legs to get decent treatment in this peculiar establishment, but now the focus has shifted slightly to include feathers.

While Keith worked away from home, birds had to be grateful for the odd handout from Sheldene, but now they're in the pound seats. Flocks of tiny finches, doves, weavers, starlings and who knows what else swoop into the garden to feast on mounds of grain and splash in the strategically placed bird baths - while she mutters about the added expense and he continues to increase their daily rations.

And I suspect Keith's motives. I'll admit he likes the birds, but can't help thinking this excessive generosity is fuelled by growing resentment of the vast amount of food being shovelled into the gaping maws of cats, dogs, mongooses and monkeys.

Sheldene claims he does it because 'it's just another way to get the dogs into trouble'. In this topsy-turvy household dogs chase, and occasionally manage to catch a bird, while the cats ignore them.

I suppose the Chant's had to find something else to squabble about, and the tension is mounting...because now Keith has a special bird which he calls Wobbler.

We can't identify Wobbler - who is very small, with grey and cream feathers, and definitely a loner. While the rest of his kind fly about in droves, Wobbler never leaves and can usually be spotted pottering about on the roof, waiting for dinner.

Which is served to the dogs, on the sundeck, at around 2 p.m. - and unfortunately Wobbler is convinced he has first claim on their cooked rice, mince and vegetables.

With my heart in my mouth I have to watch this tiny creature hop across the deck, passing within centimetres of the canine noses. When Keith isn't looking Hillary, the largest and most lumbering St Bernard, lurches onto her feet and makes a half-hearted bid to snatch his pet.

But I can tell by the gleam in her eye that she longs to bite the insolent little bird's head off....and in the meantime Wobbler is becoming bolder...and bolder.

So once again I am a nervous wreck and can you imagine the scene that would ensue if Hillary ever gets her way with this feathered intruder?

I hope I'm around to continue the tale next month.

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IN all walks of life it is increasingly difficult to avoid being accused of some form of abuse and equally hard to meet someone who has not been abused.

Naturally I've done some soul-searching but I can't claim to be a victim. People may have been unkind, inattentive, and even unreasonable but never violent or cruel. So I can't blame anyone else for my shortcomings and I'm sure I am not repressing a single thing.

As abuse is supposed to run in cycles that should leave me and my progeny in the clear...but does it?

Definitely not, according to my children, who would love to bend your ear with tales of surviving parental neglect - but I'll ignore that. However I do have a sneaking suspicion I may have put one of my son's off mathematics and schooling for life.

He had recently completed the first grade when we moved to a farm miles from the nearest town. Boarding school was out of the question so he had to be taught at home - which shouldn't have been a problem because the Education Department ran correspondence courses specifically designed for farm children.

It was just unfortunate both of us were temperamentally unsuited to this form of quality togetherness. Neither of us enjoyed being shut in a room while the rest of the family 'played' outside. And to make matters worse he had never been one of those children attracted to pencils and paper, having grown up with horses, cows, tractors and trailers and having no desire to expand these horizons.

So most mornings we withdrew, reluctantly, and tried to force a way through the syllabus. We might have got by had it not been for New Maths - or what used to be arithmetic.

As far as I was concerned arithmetic was bad enough but New Maths was dreadful - and senseless in the extreme. We were issued with coloured plastic rods - and each ridiculous rod represented a number. So not only did I have to drum adding and subtraction into the mulish child, first of all we had to sort out the rod situation - and neither of us were capable.

Most of our learning curves ended when we began yelling and throwing rods at each other.

Work had to be submitted to the Department weekly and once a term they held an Open Day so pupils could meet their distant teachers and attend some real classes. We only went once and stayed just long enough to discover we had been placed in the backward group.

Back at the farm the torture continued until I became so enraged during a New Maths session that I hurled my child into the car and drove him into town to stay with his grandmother - and get some schooling.

Following in his mother's footsteps Adrian dropped Maths at the first opportunity and for the rest of his school career only took an interest in the very few subjects that appealed to him. Fortunately, like Winston Churchill, he has managed to rise above his self-inflicted educational handicaps.

Was it all my fault?

I expect so.

Child abuse? Probably...

So tread very carefully if you're a parent!

Copyright 2002 Sheldene Chant All Rights Reserved

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I'M an optimist, a relentless, incorrigible optimist. If I were married to LaToya Jackson, I'd say, 'Well, at least I'm not married to Tonya Harding.' If I were married to Tonya Harding, I'd say, 'Well, at least I'm not married to Monica Lewinsky.' If I were married to Monica Lewinsky, I'd say, 'Well, at least I'm not dead.'

Yes, I have a very positive outlook on life. Sometimes I just look in the mirror and smile, for I know that although I'm not half as handsome as Tom Cruise, I'm twice as handsome as Osama bin Laden. Life is good!

Optimism keeps my spirits up, even when things aren't going my way. Tomorrow will be better, I tell myself. My book will be published tomorrow; my dream job will open tomorrow; my bald spot will disappear tomorrow.

Perhaps I'm lying to myself, but I'd rather do a little bit of lying than a lot of crying.

The benefits of optimism cannot be overstated, even by an optimist. Not only can optimism make you more successful, it can make you healthier. For example, a new study indicates that optimists are far less likely to develop heart disease than pessimists. Only through ardent optimism has Dick Cheney managed to limit his heart attacks to one per month.

If pessimism were sold in stores, it would come with a Surgeon General's warning. 'This product could contribute to heart disease, which would cause the user of this product, lacking all optimism, to make an appointment at the nearest funeral home.'

Optimists are generally happier than pessimists. A pessimistic sports hero would say, 'Five cars. I can't believe I have only five cars.' An optimistic military hero would say, 'Five scars. I can't believe I have only five scars.'

Optimists tend to be more successful than pessimists, because they don't let failures get them down. They keep trying until they achieve their goals or qualify for retirement.

Of course, being over-optimistic can be disastrous. An over-optimistic driver may neglect to wear a safety belt, an over-optimistic presidential candidate may forget to campaign in his home state, and an over-optimistic mother may rely on her husband to keep an eye on the baby during the football game. 'Honey, the good news is my team won. The bad news is I sat on the baby. Does our insurance plan cover cosmetic surgery?'

Some folks say they're neither optimists nor pessimists. They call themselves realists. But what exactly is reality? Was it realistic for Nelson Mandela, serving 27 years in a South African prison, to imagine himself as president? No, not without making several calls to the Psychic Friends Network.

Here are three scenarios to illustrate the importance of optimism:

SCENARIO ONE: Your wife has just left you for another man.

Realist: 'It's the end of my marriage.' Pessimist: 'It's the end of my life.' Optimist: 'It's the end of my credit card bills.'

SCENARIO TWO: You receive a piece of mail containing a white powder.

Realist: 'It could be anthrax. I'd better call the police.' Pessimist: 'Oh no! I'm going to die in two days.' Optimist: 'I'm going to be on CNN! I'm going to be on CNN!'

SCENARIO THREE: After an accident, you lose your sense of hearing.

Realist: 'I may never hear again.' Pessimist: 'I may never communicate again.' Optimist: 'I may never listen to Britney Spears again.'

If that doesn't sell you on optimism, I don't know what will.

(c) Copyright 2001 Melvin Durai. All Rights Reserved. _______________________________
Melvin Durai is an Indiana-based writer, humorist and
occasional stand-up comedian. A native of India, he grew
up in Zambia and moved to the U.S. in the early 1980s
. Through the Internet, his column is read by thousands of
people in more than 75 countries.
MelvinDurai.com

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eNonyMouse...

1. No one can ruin your day without YOUR permission.

2. Most people will be about as happy as they decide to be.

3. Success stops when you do.

4. When your ship comes in.... make sure you are willing to unload it...

5. The biggest lie on the planet: 'When I get what I want, I will be happy.'

6. The best way to escape your problem is to solve it.

7. If you don't start, it's certain you won't arrive.

8. He or she who laughs......lasts.

9. Yesterday was the deadline for all complaints.

10. Life is what's coming....not what was.

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NEVER - until she fell in love with two repulsive pugs very late in life - could my mother have been described as a pet lover.

However, she committed two quite extraordinary and out of character offences while still in her right mind and masquerading as a law-abiding citizen.

In the first instance she kidnapped a small, unattractive dog from her neighbour because she suspected it was being ill-treated. Then, a couple of months later, she went with my 12- year-old son to the SPCA and returned with a vervet monkey named Pookie.

Of course these were temporary aberrations as she never intended to share her hearth and home with either animal. The white dog, later named Anne, was handed to me immediately, and she knew her grandson, Adrian, was not going to be parted from Pookie who 'couldn't stay at the SPCA a moment longer because he was desperately unhappy.'

Thanks to Adrian, I was accustomed to sharing a house with rabbits, rats, crows, bats, owls, and guinea pigs, but I must admit the advent of an ape stunned me. This was my mother, after all, who was supposed to have my interests at heart. I had heard a thing or two about monkeys and although I found them fascinating, from afar, I had every intention of maintaining that distance.

And then my native conceit clicked in - and because of this misplaced pride more than three horrible years would follow.

I decided the monkey would stay - regardless. Furthermore the monkey would live in the house where he would be treated with due consideration. Given time I would show the world what could be done with a well brought up monkey.

Adrian was delirious with joy - he even liked me for a while. Only a week or so previously he had accused me of being an ugly old witch but now we were instant allies.

The three younger children watched with big,round eyes. This was all very exciting but a little disturbing. Llewelyn, aged six, who would have the doubtful pleasure of sharing a bedroom with Adrian and his latest acquisition, was particularly suspicious. No doubt they also had misgivings about their father - who had a history of erupting when told yet another litter of dear little kittens had moved into his cupboard.

They need not have worried. When Keith came home Pookie was sitting at the dining room table learning how to spoon up porridge - which left the man of the house absolutely speechless.

Fortunately we were on a farm so not too many people were around to report on our latest idiocy. Add to that the bush war that was just getting into its stride in Rhodesia, so visitors were unlikely after dark.

In fact the first night passed without incident. Pookie took to bed, bath and liberal sprinklings of talc, like a duck to water. I was in danger of becoming overconfident as the experiment was working magnificently, even better than expected.

I didn't fully appreciate that Pookie was also feeling his way because everything was so strange to him. He looked very sweet with his tiny head on Adrian's pillow, and I went on my way, more than pleased with myself

With gritted teeth my husband put up with the bragging and misplaced enthusiasm. Neither of us knew what we had let ourselves in for. But we were about to find out.

Copyright 2000 Sheldene Chant

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ARE you living a life or pursuing a lifestyle?

More and more I see people who are driving themselves (and those around them) crazy, not to mention to the edges of exhaustion and financial insolvency, all for the sake of trying to live a lifestyle.

Think about it... What's the first thing we see about other people?

Their lifestyle!

We see the clothes they wear, the jobs they have, the houses they live in. We see all of the outward signs of their lifestyle.

But what is it that we aren't seeing? What else is there?

Quite a lot, actually.

Just like an iceberg, most of the big stuff in our lives is hidden from view. Similarly, Lifestyle is just the tip of the iceberg to understanding who a person really is and what they truly value.

Unfortunately, too many people these days get so busy working towards a lifestyle that they've decided they want, that they forget to work as hard, if not harder, on the person inside... so that when they finally get the lifestyle they strived for, they're not happy with who they are.

Do you really want to have a great lifestyle but a lousy life?

What does your lifestyle matter to you, anyway?

Take some time today to figure out if you're living life or pursuing a lifestyle... Know for certain whether you are simply staying busy, collecting a whole bunch of stuff, or truly fulfilling your values.

After all, it's your life.

©2001 Jim Allen & CoachJim.com All rights reserved __________________________________

Jim Allen is a professional life coach, speaker,
and writer. Get more great ideas in your email every
week by subscribing to Jim's weekly newsletter, The Big Idea, by sending a blank email to:
CoachJim

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Copyright 2002 Poignant Pearls & Potbellied Pigs

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CONTACT INFO: Sheldene Chant (Publisher), 6 Strapp Lane, Amanzimtoti 4126, KwaZuluNatal, South Africa. Fax:27-31-9031635. email:morganne@icon.co.za . öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖoo