Introvert...

I found this picture on Facebook. I absolutely love it (could be because it quite explains me very well, not entirely, but very well). People need to understand...

What happens when you lose all hope...

I have no idea, I'm still waiting to find out.

In Dublin's Fair City/Molly Malone

1. In dublin's fair city, where girls are so pretty
   I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone
   She wheeled a wheel-barrow, through streets broad and narrow
   Crying: cockles and Mussels a-live, a-live oh
   
   Alive, a-live oh, a-live a-live oh
   Crying,. cockles and mussels a-live, a-live oh
2. She was a fishmonger, and sure 'twas no wonder
   For so were her father and mother before
   And they both wheeled their barrow,
   through streets broad and narrow
   Crying: cockles and Mussels a-live, a-live oh
   
   Alive, a-live oh, a-live a-live oh
   Crying,. cockles and mussels a-live, a-live oh
3. She died of a fever, and no one could save her
   And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
   But her ghost wheels her barrow,
   through streets broad and narrow
   Crying: cockles and Mussels a-live, a-live oh
   
   Alive, a-live oh, a-live a-live oh
   Crying,. cockles and mussels a-live, a-live oh

Crafty Duck

On one of our spur of the moment trips we decided to go to Crafty Duck. We refers to my sister, her boyfriend Nicolin, and myself.

Crafty Duck is like a little farm just outside Copesville in Pietermaritzburg. The entrance fee is only R 25 and they have a variety of animals which include ostriches (which I'm not a big fan of, they seem a little scary and like they're looking for a fight...), goats, pigs, a huge range of birds and reptiles (which give me the creeps), chickens, ducks, geese, rabbits and even an animal whose name I cannot recall but is a relation to a llama. There are many more but I cannot remember them all *hides my face in shame*.

You're given a little can of food which you can feed to some of the animals. There are a few kiddies rides as well as horse riding for only R 10! I really wanted to go on a horse ride, but Nicolin and Prenisha refused to wait for me... Crafty Duck also has a restaurant with quite a selective menu which I would love to try out the next time I get to pop by.

My sister and I had wanted to go to Crafty Duck for ages. We always heard about it but had never been and so it was quite nice to finally see it... However, it IS a place which is more fun for children. You can take your kids there to have a look at the animals and enjoy a day there just to chill and maybe have some lunch... I know as a kid going to Crafty Duck would have been one hell of an adventure to me. Hehe :)

For more information you can check out the Crafty Duck website: Crafty Duck

I was pretty bummed out that I did not have my camera there because it was such a spur of the moment trip. It's a lovely place to photograph. All I managed to get were a few pics on my lame BlackBerry, so please mind the quality...

He got so excited when he saw us. He was lying down and upon our approach he got up and practically run toward the fence

I think they've come to associate people and tin cans with food...

He refused to eat the food off the ground would only eat directly from our hands...

Me feeding the cute baby goat :) (and yes I know its called a kid, but I prefer to say baby goat)

Oh, My Darling Clementine

This is a song everyone MUST know! Well the chorus at least.

In a cavern, In a canyon, 

Excavating for a mine, 

Dwelt a miner forty-niner, 

And his daughter Clementine.

Chorus: 

Oh my darling, Oh my darling, 

Oh my darling Clementine, 

You are lost and gone forever, 

Dreadful sorry Clementine.

Repeat chorus

Light she was and like a fairy, 

And her shoes were number nine; 

Herring boxes, without topses, 

Sandals were for Clementine.

Repeat chorus

Drove she ducklings to the water, 

Every morning just at nine; 

Hit her foot against a splinter, 

Fell into the foaming brine.

Repeat chorus

Ruby lips above the water, 

Blowing bubbles, soft and fine; 

But Alas! I was no swimmer, 

So I lost my Clementine.

Repeat chorus

When the miner forty-niner,

Soon began to peak and pine,

Thought he oughter "jine" his daughter,

Now he's with his clementine.

Repeat chorus

In a corner of the churchyard,

Where the myrtle boughs entwine,

Grow the roses in their poses,

Fertilized by Clementine.

Repeat chorus

In my dreams she still doth haunt me,

Robed in garments soaked in brine.

Though in life I used to hug her,

Now she's dead, I'll draw the line.

Repeat chorus

How I missed her, how I missed her

How I missed my Clementine.

So I kissed her little sister,

And forgot my Clementine.

Repeat chorus

Now you Boy Scouts, there's a moral

To this little tale of mine.

Artificial respiration,

Would have saved my Clementine.

Repeat chorus

There's A Yellow Rose in Texas

One of the days this old song popped into my brain and took me down memory lane. To my primary school days and music lessons, which, for me being an Indian kid living in South Africa and attending an Indian school, meant a little room with a piano the 'music teacher' played and singing songs from a song book (that was it). 

Anyhoo, this got me thinking about the songs I really liked from 'music' and I decided to have a series of blog posts with these songs. Seen as these are quite old songs, maybe it will bring back some old memories for you too...

So I decided to have "There's a yellow rose in Texas" as the first song. I tried to find the lyrics of the song we sang as school kids, as I don't remember the whole song *hiding my face in shame* and I found out that there a numerous versions of the song. So I found the one that most resembles the one I recall. 

There's a yellow rose in Texas, that I am going to see,
Nobody can have her, nobody only me.
She cried so when I left her, it nearly broke my heart,
And if I ever find her, we nevermore will part.

She's the sweetest little rosebud that Texas ever knew,

Her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew;

You may talk about your Dearest May, and sing of Rosalee,

But the yellow rose of Texas is the only girl for me.

When the Rio Grande is flowing, the starry skies are bright,

She walks along the river in the quiet summer night:

I know that she remembers, when we parted long ago,

I promise to return again, and not to leave her so.

She's the sweetest little rosebud that Texas ever knew,

Her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew;

You may talk about your Dearest May, and sing of Rosalee,

But the yellow rose of Texas is the only girl for me.

Oh now I'm going to find her, for my heart is full of woe,

And we'll sing the songs together, that we sung so long ago

We'll play the bango gaily, and we'll sing the songs of yore,

And the yellow rose of Texas shall be mine forevermore.

She's the sweetest little rosebud that Texas ever knew,

Her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew;

You may talk about your Dearest May, and sing of Rosalee,

But the yellow rose of Texas is the only girl for me.

The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini

" When I was in fifth grade, we had a mullah who taught us about Islam. His name was Mullah Fatiullah Khan, a short, stubby man with a face full of acne scars and a gruff voice. He lectured us about the virtues of zakat and the duty of hadj; he taught us the intricacies of performing the five daily namaz prayers, and made us memorize verses from the Koran-and though he never translated the words for us, he did stress, sometimes with the help of a stripped willow branch, that we had to pronounce the Arabic words correctly so God would hear us better. He told us one day that Islam considered drinking a terrible sin; those who drank would answer for their sin on the day of Qiyamat, Judgment Day. In those days, drinking was fairly common in Kabul. No one gave you a public lashing for it, but those Afghans who did drink did so in private, out of respect. People bought their scotch as 'medicine' in brown paper bags from selected 'pharmacies'.They would leave with the bag tucked out of sight, sometimes drawing furtive, disapproving glances from those who knew about the store's reputation for such transactions.

We were upstairs in Baba's study, the smoking room, when I told him what Mullah Fatiullah Khan had taught us in class. Baba was pouring himself a whiskey from the bar he had built in the corner of the room. He listened, nodded, took a sip from his drink. Then he lowered himself into the leather sofa, put down his drink, and propped me up on his lap. I felt as if I were sitting on a pair of tree trunks. He took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, the air hissing through his mustache for what seemed an eternity. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to hug him or leap from his lap in mortal fear.

'I see you've confused what you're learning in school with actual education,' he said in his thick voice.

'But if what he said is true then does it make you a sinner, Baba?'

'Hmm.' Baba crushed an ice cube between his teeth. 'Do you want to know what your father thinks about sin?'

'Yes.'

'Then I'll tell you,' Baba said, 'but first understand this and understand it now Amir: You'll never learn anything of value from those bearded idiots.'

'You mean Mullah Fatiullah Khan?'

Baba gestured with his glass. The ice clinked. 'I mean all of them. Piss on the beards of all those self-righteous monkeys.'

I began to giggle. The image of Baba pissing on the beard of any monkey, self-righteous or otherwise, was too much.

'They do nothing but thumb their prayer beads and recite a book written in a tongue they don't even understand.' He took a sip. 'God help us all if Afghanistan ever falls into their hands.'

'But Mullah Fatiullah Khan seems nice,' I managed between bursts of tittering.

'So did Genghis Khan,' Baba said. 'But enough about that. You asked about sin and I want to tell you. Are you listening?'

'Yes,' I said, pressing my lips together. But a chortle escaped through my nose and made a snorting sound. That got me giggling again.

Baba's stony eyes bore into mine and, just like that, I wasn't laughing anymore. 'I mean to speak to you man to man. Do you think you can handle that for once?'

'Yes, Baba jan.' I muttered, marvelling, not for the first time, at how badly Baba could sting me with so few words. We'd had a fleeting good moment-it wasn't often Baba talked to me, let alone on his lap-and I'd been a fool to waste it.

'Good,' Baba said, but his eyes wondered. 'Now, no matter what the mullah teaches, there is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft. Do you understand that?'

'No, Baba jan,' I said, desperately wishing I did. I didn't want to disappoint him again.

Baba heaved a sigh of impatience. That stung too, because he was not an impatient man. I remembered all the times he didn't come home until after dark, all the times I ate dinner alone. I'd ask Ali where Baba was, when he was coming home, though I knew full well he was at the construction site, overlooking this, supervising that. Didn't that take patience? I already hated all the kids he was building the orphanage for; sometimes I wished they'd all died along with their parents.

'When you kill a man, you steal a life,' Baba said. 'You steal his wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. Do you see?'
......

'There is no act more wretched than stealing, Amir,' Baba said. 'A man who takes what's not his to take, be it a life or a loaf of naan... I spit on such a man. And if I ever cross paths with him, God help him...'"