friedachennellsme

[friedachennellsme]

When life gets lifey...

Someone once said that we fall off the bus, lose the plot... or our marbles... because life gets lifey...

What does this even mean? Plainly speaking, this phrase could be shortened to: Sh#t happens!

I haven’t blogged for quite a while now, because life got lifey. I am incredibly busy doing content writing as a (full time) freelance writer and it has been hectic. Topics have been as obscure as earning a credit rating in America, to profound, thought-provoking issues such as the rights of Aboriginal people in Australia. I have enjoyed writing them all and learned so much along the way.

However, life become lifey... and we lose contact, neglect relationships... or stop blogging.

Life gets lifey when:

* A beloved friend loses both parents to covid... 🖤

* A sister grieves the loss of a son... 😔

* People you love don’t get along... 💔

* A family member becomes very ill... 🙏🏼

* The world around you seems to have gone mad... 🤯

But, it is not all doom and gloom. Life also becomes lifey when:

* Your granddaughter brings you flowers, or tatty bird feathers... 🌺

* Chubby arms hold you tight in a spontaneous hug... 🤗

* Warm little bodies wake you up way too early as they crawl into your bed...

* An excited little man tells you all about his adventures at camp... 🖼

* Bright eyes look up at you and you hear, ‘Thank you Ouma’... 🥰

* Your son laughs out loud and his face lights up with the joys of life... 💕

Yes, life becomes lifey... 

Pick the bits you want to remember and keep the rest in your heart... You don’t know how many moments you have left to cherish. 

[friedachennellsme]

I am not fat I am fluffy!

For as long as I can remember, the issue of weight loss has been part of my life. I was a roly-poly baby, literally... and a chubby toddler. Although I lost most of my baby fat by the time I was twelve or thirteen... in time for puberty..., I was always made aware of how important it was to be slim.

I remember the diet fads... eating cabbage soup for weeks on end, shakes and powders replacing meals and always being unhappy about what I perceived as being overweight.

I am a food addict. (I remember binge eating at my dad’s annual work Christmas parties.) I have always used food to cover my feelings of stress, inadequacy or unhappiness. Unfortunately, it is not only the negative emotions that make me pig out, but the happy ones too! There is no better way to celebrate a triumph or success than to have a milkshake, a glass of wine, or a (piece of) cake... I always joke that I can easily be captured in a trap... just offer pies or pastries as bait. it is funny... but also very true.

Society categorises men and women by judging them by their looks and their size. This is a toxic environment to grow up in and a nail in the coffin of a young girl’s self-worth. I get that one has to be healthy, but aren’t we being just a little harsh on the ‘fluffies’ around us?

I still have issues with my weight. Yet, I know what to do to lose weight and I have done so... many times 😏. As the saying goes: ‘Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.’ I love being thin, but my mind sabotages me time after time... 

However, it is important to realise that weight is just a number. It does not make you less smart, less beautiful, less worthy or less deserving of love... Pick a number and stick with it. The only one holding you back is you  💕

[friedachennellsme]

Writer’s block.

Over the last few weeks, I have been writing on a variety of interesting and not so interesting topics. As you’ll remember, I was employed as a freelance content writer. I am now a ‘full-time’ freelance writer for one agent and I am loving it.

I have written about salmon oil, cannabis, business practices, interior decor and ready-made meals... to mention a few!  

But why is it sometimes possible to write comfortably, words just pouring out in perfect sentences... witty, clever, meaningful. On other days, regardless of the topic, I find myself unable to string two coherent sentences together. My mind is all over the place and unable to concentrate.

Is this what is called writer’s block? Or is it the onset of early dementia? 🤪

Recently, my husband and I were fortunate to spend time with friends at a lovely little haven at the sea. Fresh air, long (tiring) walks and good company can clear the mind and refresh the soul. It was great to give my mind a rest and to put my musings on the back-burner for a little while. 

Fast-forward a week or so and I find myself once again embroiled in life... making choices, rearranging priorities and dealing with a chaotic mind. I may not have my ducks in a row, but at least I still have a healthy, capable mind and weird topics to write about... 

P.S I realise that this blog is a bit weak compared to the usual... blame it on writer’s block... or whatever...

[friedachennellsme]

[friedachennellsme]

Pedantic much?

My pet hate as an English teacher and a human being, (to be honest), is spelling and grammar errors in public places. 

I have been known to correct spelling errors on pamphlets in doctors’ waiting rooms, hotels and banks. I have threatened to take a black marker to a large sign on the highway (which proudly displays incorrect punctuation), in order to soothe my OCD. Errors in advertisements or newspaper articles drive me to distraction!

How difficult can it be to know the difference between ‘there’, ‘their’ and ‘they’re’!? Surely you know that apostrophes show possession or omission and should never EVER be used when writing plurals! And do not even get me started on tenses...! Concord is NOT an antiquated aircraft from the 1970s and 80s!  

When I worked at a large public school, I must have done a reasonable job because I was assigned the position of English Subject Head. Personally, I think no-one else wanted the job because frankly, it was hard work... at least for me. 

A part of my duties entailed moderating (checking) the work of my colleagues (other English educators). I am sorry to admit that I was probably a pain in the butt! I insisted on dotting every ‘i’ and crossing every ‘t’. Formatting had to be done perfectly to the last millimetre before I was happy. 

Similarly, at my last place of employment, I had the daunting task, at the end of each term, to check the comments teachers wrote on the reports to be sent home. I believe apologies are in order in this instance as well...

As you may have learned by now, I have started a career as a content writer. And oh boy, am I a hard taskmaster! I do not submit anything until I have checked, re-checked and triple checked every comma, apostrophe and tense in every single sentence. Pedantic much? Not I!

P.S I have checked this blog for errors. Please contact me if you spot any I may have missed.

[friedachennellsme]

[friedachennellsme]

Valentine’s Day: cute or not?

The 14th of February is a day to celebrate love, romance and togetherness. Or is it?

This morning I saw Valentine’s Day described as ‘Singles Awareness Day’. It has become the social norm that being single is a bad thing. There is a stigma attached to being on your own... almost as if you are labelled ‘not good enough’, or ‘not worthy of someone’s love’. 

But where did Valentine’s Day originate?  The ancient Romans may have inadvertently coined the name of our modern day of love. Emperor Claudius II executed two men — both named Valentine — on Feb. 14 of different years in the 3rd century A.D.

One story tells of a priest called Valentine who went against the emperor who claimed single soldiers fought better than married ones. The emperor outlawed marriage for young men. Valentine did not like this idea and performed secret marriages to foil the emperor’s plans. His pains cost him his life. Another tale elaborates on Bishop Valentine of Terni, who suffered a similar fate.

 Many people do not believe in celebrating Valentine’s Day. Some say that it has become too commercial. Others believe that love should be shown all-year round. What do you believe? Do you accept your soul mate’s disinterest in the matter, or do you feel (like I do), that a little token of commitment and appreciation would not go unnoticed (or unrewarded).  💕

[friedachennellsme]

[friedachennellsme]

The saga continues... the life of a teacher part III. This post is dedicated to an amazing woman... Teacher Getrude whom we lost in 2020. You will always be missed...

I am not sure whether working at four different schools during a teaching career is a good thing or a bad thing. The fact that it all adds up to twenty years of very interesting, emotional ups and downs however, is amazing.

My most recent teaching post - pre Covid and pre I-want-to-be-a-writer, was very special. The small school I taught at was run by Christian missionaries and very much different to the large public school I had worked at prior. 

Classes were small with twelve to sixteen children in a class. This allowed for a more personal, hands-on approach to education. The children I taught there, and the teachers I worked with burrowed deep into my heart. The first three years were a revelation. I could be my own quirky self while doing the job I loved. Remember: “English Rocks!”

Then in March 2020, Covid hit. I have an underlying medical condition that branded me as a high risk, so I had to stay at home and teach the kids online. It broke my heart to be away from them and unable to connect. Teaching via the internet seemed impersonal an inconsequential. I hated it and so did the kids... I think. Their whole world must have been turned upside down...

One year later... I started this blog. I have completed six articles as a content writer... accepted by the clients and... paid for! It is but the beginning, but who knows where this path will lead me. All I know is that I am looking forward to the ride. 

[friedachennellsme]

Life as a teacher (part II)

With my NPDE application fresh off the printing press, I decided that I needed to now match my future qualification to a teaching job at a ‘real’ school 😉 (no offence intended)... I promptly set my eyes on a large, well-known public school in the area. My children had attended this school and it had a good reputation at the time. Also, I thought the fact that the staff knew my family, would possibly count in my favour. My aim was to get a toe in the door... for possible employment in the future... or at least when I had completed a teaching qualification.

‘She can speak English!’

This was (genuinely) the response when I shared my intentions to the people in charge. This looked very promising... I thought I could at least be a floating assistant... A few weeks later I stepped into a classroom to teach Grade 10 learners Afrikaans!

I was born ‘Erasmus’, so Afrikaans should not have been a problem. Unfortunately, having married an ‘Engelsman’, my head had been brainwashed and was now fully English. I even dreamed in English. Luckily, this state of affairs lasted only a few months and I (hopefully) didn’t do too much damage in the Afrikaans class during that period of time.

I stayed at this school for four years teaching grade 11 and eventually grade 12 learners English. I will be lying if I said I knew what I was doing all the time, but at least all the learners passed and I managed to wring a few distinctions for English from the process.

I learned a lot during the time I taught at that school and made some awesome friends whom I still have intermittent contact with. I hoped that I had made a difference to a few young lives, but as is typical in teaching... one never really knows. 

A few years later I received the following message:

Hi ma’am

The funniest thing happened to me today. I had to write a letter for work and I could hear your voice in the back of my mind! ‘R*... planning first... then final... not final first!’ It’s funny how in school we don’t realise the value / importance of a brilliant teacher, but every day since finishing school, I’ve valued every lesson you’ve ever taught us - not just English, but life lessons as well. In case I didn’t say it enough in school, thank you for everything you’ve ever taught me. ♥️

So... maybe I did make a difference after all.

Part III to follow...

[friedachennellsme]

Punctuation matters.

[friedachennellsme]

Life as a teacher.

It is said that teaching is not a profession but a calling. I cannot agree more.

I did not set out to become a teacher. In fact, I wanted to be a marine biologist when I grow up. This is a weird choice, considering that the sea and its creatures terrify me. When ‘swimming’ in the sea, I consider waves lapping at my knees to be deep and adventurous enough.

So, how did I become a teacher? 

My first teaching appointment happened by sheer coincidence. My son’s friend’s mother owned a pre-school in town. At one point in time, she urgently needed someone to help out in the pre-school (grade R) class as the position had suddenly become vacant. I offered my assistance... although I had no teaching qualification at the time... and ended up working for her for 8 years... I think. I loved the littlies and their unabashed adoration and love. Many a day found me peering into a mirror somewhere and realising that the braids that the kids had done while playing with my hair, was still very prominently on display... in all different shapes, sizes and pointing in different directions. I cherished the attention and the shoulder massages I received every day.

My second teaching opportunity came when I learned that a housing estate on our neighbouring farm, had started a school. I didn’t know whether there were any vacant posts and really had no way of finding out. The estate was super secure with access to residents only. 

Then, one fateful day... I drove past the gate just as a resident was driving through. Pushing my luck, and seeing this as divine intervention (opening doors and such), I drove in behind her and followed her up the road to the school. Breaching security paid off and the rest is history. I spent the next few years teaching learners from grade 4 to grade 11 English as well as Afrikaans at times. We sometimes had to teach two grades in one class, as the groups were small and the available staff even smaller. For a little while I even shared one classroom with another teacher! We became great friends and I enjoyed the experience immensely. 

I walked home from school on some days... dodging emus and sometimes even large antelope. I found a large cobra hibernating in a box under my desk one winter and experienced a runaway fire the next year. Our ‘staff meetings’ under a large tree were legendary. I store all those memories in the storage boxes in my mind.

By this time, I realised that if I wanted to be a ‘real’ teacher, I would have to acquire a teaching qualification. Hence I enrolled to Open Learning Group (via Northwest University), to complete a National Professional Diploma in Education. I hoped that this qualification would bring me more opportunities in the future...

(to be continued...)     

[friedachennellsme]

[friedachennellsme]

Wearing many hats.

I have worn many hats during my lifetime. I have been a daughter, sister, wife, mother, sister-in-law, aunt, mother-in-law and a grandmother (to name but a few). 

As a young girl, I was my dad’s favourite (sorry sis, but you know that it’s true). I could do no wrong in his eyes. So when I grew up and decided, at the tender age of 19, to get married, it must have been quite a shock to him. However... and hats off to him... he gave his blessing and his signature on the licence - I was not yet legal, you see. 

Two years later, and a scant two weeks after I came of age, my husband and I welcomed our first child into the world. He was scrawny at first, but plumped out nicely after a few months. When he didn’t win a photographic baby competition a few months later, I had a bee in my bonnet! Wasn’t he the most beautiful baby ever to be born!? Spoiler alert: Many years later, we came across the photo entry and... well... let’s just say... he became much more handsome as he grew up.

Our second boy was born in 1991. Initially a carbon copy of his older brother (at birth at least), he had a scrunched up little face and auburn hair! I was delighted, as my dad had also been a redhead. My little carrot top was a difficult baby. He loved his mommy and not many other people. I vividly recall finding his elderly grandparents both on all fours trying to appease him on an occasion when I was out of sight for a little while! Thankfully he too grew up to be independent and capable and the red hair has now turned into a fiery beard.

I have been blessed with an amazing set of daughters-in-law. Over recent years, and with a little help from The Boys, they have blessed me with four amazing, beautiful, clever, delightful, enchanting, fantastic, g... you get the picture... grandchildren. My once dark head is now mostly grey and I am as mad as a hatter sometimes, but I wear my hats with pride and an abundance of joy.  

[friedachennellsme]

Hiding your light under a bushel.

I am not a confident person. I dislike change, new beginnings, and having to prove myself to people who judge me before they know me. I have always been reserved and introverted, and interaction with actual, flesh-and-bone human beings, has never been my preferred cup of tea. Don’t get me wrong: I am as socially adept as the next person, but I require sufficient time to warm up to new people, places and ideas.

The declaration above was written as a part of a short story I recently submitted. In hindsight, it describes me to a tee. 

My sister told me not to hide my light under a bushel. She called me a little engine... She said to use my God-given talents and basically to get on with it. Family and friends have been very supportive of my new venture... writing this blog... but how do I really know whether I am good enough?

Why do we doubt ourselves so much? 

I am the epitome of a doubting Thomas. I never regard myself (or my work) as good enough or as good as the work of the person next to me. I am filled with self-doubt and insecurity at the best of times. 

I have mentioned that I had been a teacher for a very long time. During this time I often wondered: Am I getting through to them? Am I teaching this right? Are they even listening?! Surely they must hate my guts...

Validation sometimes come from unexpected sources. After I left my previous teaching position, I received a pile of notes and messages from my students. It warmed my heart and lightened my doubt... just a little. I include a collage of the better ones below. (Seems I didn’t teach them to spell so well though...)  

[friedachennellsme]

The road to writing excellence.

Since I made the decision to become a writer of sorts, much has happened. ‘We regret to inform you...’ has turned into two cases of ‘show us what you’ve got’, and I am having a marvellous time trying out my writing skills.

This is the composition that led to my first ‘break’:

Why me?

By Frieda Chennells

Why would anyone want to hire me as a content writer? What do I have to offer? I am a woman in my mid-fifties, or thereabouts, who has never done anything but teach. What have I achieved along the way that makes me stand out from the crowd? I can only say: Life Experience.

I have borne two tiny, pink boy babies who have turned into (semi-)responsible, strapping young men and fathers. Surely, that may be counted as an achievement...? I have not rewritten the history books by doing anything amazing, earth-shattering or contributive. I am no Elon Musk or Mark Zuckerberg, but I have lived.

When I scratch around in the storage boxes of my memory, I find many small, seemingly inconsequential events that must have shaped my life and my love for writing. When I fell in love with my husband of thirty four years - at the tender age of nineteen - I wrote soppy poetry about it. When I sat star-gazing in the beautiful Drakensberg Mountains while my pink baby slept, I wrote about it in my girly diary.

As an educator, the (sometimes wholly inappropriate) ramblings of teenage writers, amused and amazed me. The best part of a poetry lesson was when I could show off my own rhyming skills and ‘cool’ grasp of language. In hindsight: the word ‘cool’ is not cool to use anymore. Go figure! My motto, displayed prominently on my classroom wall, was: English Rocks!

So, I have nothing more to offer than a passion for the English language; a vivid imagination, and a storage room full of experiences, triumphs and disasters that some might find interesting (at a stretch). Nonetheless, I believe that I have what it takes to do this job justice.

Since writing the above-mentioned letter, I have written an article about online gambling. I missed the deadline (long story), but completed the article and learned a lot about a possible pastime for rainy days and Sundays. I also wrote about The Benefits of Salmon Oil for Cats. I now know more about cats (and salmon oil) than any living person on the face of the earth. I had some positive feedback on that one and am waiting to hear whether it was worth a read. Keep reading to find out what happens next. I am as excited as you to find out...!    

[friedachennellsme]