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Here are a few stories from my life that you might enjoy...
The Movie Baby
Around the time that I was born, my parents liked the name Eric. They then went to see a movie called Eric and one of the main actors was, would you believe it, John Savage. Now my grandfather was John Frederick and my dad is John Richard, so the John tradition could be maintained and I didn't have much choice in being a Savage. So that was it, Eric John Savage.
Of course, parents tell stories about storks and what-not. Then I discover this webpage. There it is - all truth. Not only that, but John Savage, an American now married to a Namibian, was in South Africa from 88-94 helping Mandela with the anti-apartheid movement. I guess I'm a movie babie.
Keys in the Clouds
I was in town with my Dad once, coming in from the farm to do some shopping
and other odd jobs. We stopped by at the post office, and I was handed
the keys to go and get the post while my Dad went across the road to an
auto shop. The box was empty, and while I waited I started throwing the
keys up and down. Higher and higher...they started hitting the post office
roof. So I went outside so I could throw them higher. Up and up and ...
gone. Oops! They landed on the post office roof. Drooping back to
the car, I awaited my fate. My Dad came back got into the driver's seat
and said, "Can I have the keys please?" After a sturn berating, we marched
into the post office, very embarrassed, and had to ask them to get a ladder
and fetch our keys off their roof!
Three times blessed in Rio
We were on our way home - back to South Africa from our two year missionary
stint in America and South America. The bus-train-bus journey was about to
culminate in our arrival in Rio de Janeiro, hailed as one of the most
beautiful cities in the world. From there we would be on a plane back home.
We would get home with practically nothing bar the clothes on our backs and
in our suitcases. For that reason, stretching the remaining $100 in our
pockets was imperative. Challenge one. As we pulled up to the bus stop, we
knew we needed a hotel. I said, "God please find us a cheap hotel." In
the next minute, there it was blinking in the distance - a cheap old neon
"Hotel" sign. Challenge two... find a cheap taxi to the airport. My Dad
went off to town and came back after an hour ... with an old rattling
van with the seats removed, perfect for all our luggage. The father and his
young daughter gave us a pleasant ride. Challenge three. The check-in
attendant looked up at us and said, "You're overweight." I prayed, "God it's your turn again. "We father put on
his best poker face and explained that we had fewer bags so the overall
weight was still under the limit. The attendant hesitated and then said, "I
won't charge you." Whew! Yup, there is a God.
Rags to Riches
Life in South America was pretty tough. We were never ungrateful, but the
truth remained. We managed on about $100 a month, eating the bare minimum
(easier of course in poor Bolivia), and just managing with what we had, like
we've done for most of our lives. Finally, when the time came to go back
home to South Africa, our flight would take us from Rio de Janeiro in Brazil,
and onwards to Johannesburg. We took off from Rio and had to make a
scheduled stop in Sao Paulo. The flight was delayed. Then after several
hours, we were alerted to a fuel problem and told that our flight for the
evening would be postponed to the next day and we would be put up in ... a
hotel. Now if you know the airline business, you know that "hotel" means
"nice hotel". And sure enough, we jumped into a paid-for taxi and sped off
down the streets of Sao Paulo and into Avenida Paulista, the Bond Street of
Sao Paulo. And there it was. The angel's were singing and the dove's were
flying overhead ... it was the Maksoud Plaza, South America's second most
expensive hotel. The embarrassed porter lugged in our scrappy handbags
while we gazed and gasped at the sights and sounds of luxury. Bands were
playing, rich and well-dressed clientele were chatting, restaurants were
buzzing, fountains were flowing and we were sleeping ... each in our own
silky double beds. Before we went to bed, we ordered our free breakfast.
Not knowing what it all meant, we just ticked everything. Uh-aw. Next
morning room service woke us up and wheeled in a monstrosity - a round table
covered with all means of morning treats ... cereals, yoghurts, special
breads, little sausages, tea in a silver pot... We enjoyed the luxury of
a hot shower (while my Mom, unaccustomed to the luxury, warned us not to use
too much hot water - never mind what the breakfast cost). By the time we
headed off to the airport in the evening, we had had our fill of riches for
a day. Yup, it was our own little rags to riches story ... that's one for
the grandkids ;)
Learning to skiiiiiii!
I spent the summer vacation of 02/03 in America's winter. I had a special
visa for students that allowed me to work anywhere in America, and most of
these visa holders would head off to the ski resorts, where they could get
bonus ski passes with a job. I followed suit. Unfortunately my job hunt
almost failed and I only managed to get a supermarket job. I was however
staying at a hostel, and one day the owner offered me a free ski pass for
a day, coupled with the use of his ski equipment. I jubilantly accepted,
knowing that it would be my only opportunity. The whole skiing thing took
a while - about an hour I suppose. My host put up with my fawn-like struggles,
pointing out my technical errors, and after a while I was staying on my feet
the whole way down ... well almost. So I ventured out on my own, my
confidence slowly growing. After mastering the easiest slope, I looked at the
map and picked out another beginner's slope as my next step up. Mistake.
Pretty soon I found out I was in for a whizzer! With the wind roaring past
my ears and with my not knowing how to stop, I said to myself, just buckle up
and hope you avoid the trees. After a major wipeout, I headed humbly back
to my original beginner's slope. As the day wore on, and my time was running
out, I mustered up the courage to take on a more difficult slope again. I
took the ski lift to the top and struggling to maneuvre along a slope, I
accidentally went up a slope, lost momentum and started skiing backwards.
Kerplink! Something gave. Yup, the brakes on the ski snapped. Oh dear, the
owner is not going to be happy. So I headed off down the slopes again, had
a minor accident and accidentally went backwards again. Kerplink! The brake
on the other ski snapped. Yup, that kind of day. Later on I found out what
ski brakes are for when I fell again and my one detached ski took a life of its own and decided to ski half way down the hill on its own. I sat on one
ski and skiied down the hill, earning looks from the lift travellers overhead.
Humbled, I headed back home, readjusting to gravity again, and watching all
the ski gurus whizzing down the slopes, and I smuggly reminded myself, "Yup,
they all started out on the beginner's trail too..."
Hijacking my fear
Every story has a moral. Back in January 2001, I was house-sitting for a couple away on holiday, and I had to pick up their house maids using the couple's vehicle. At the pick-up point, I was approached by a bunch of novice hijackers who took control of the car and forced me to go with them, with one of the team holding me on the passenger's seat with a knife and the backseat managed by the handgun wielder. They said they only wanted the "transport" and wouldn't kill me, and in fact offered to drop me off at home! Driving down a dirt road in the cane fields, they dropped me off and I waved them goodbye! Beginning my walk home, I didn't have much time to ponder the situation before a police van sped past, and then reversed and picked me up. They told me they had found my vehicle after someone quickly reported the incident and a response unit was alerted. They intercepted the vehicle and the hijackers veered off and fled on foot. So, after hearing my story, I was told I could go and I apprehensively got into the vehicle and drove off to my day-job. The moral of the story? As I started driving along, I got a sudden fear and wound up all my windows and locked all the doors. Then I though to myself, was I going to live in fear for the rest of my life because of a one-in-a-thousand incident that I had no control over? Boldly, I wound down my window, unlocked my door and never looked back on the incident again, other than to give God glory for keeping me safe in a country where such survival is not common.
The Extra Letter
I spent much of my schooling at a small Christian school, and the teachers organised a fun activity for us one time. We had to go in small groups into the centre of our small town and find well-known adults from our church. They would be hearing hats so we could identify them, and they would give us one letter of a secret message. There would be a prize for the first team to get all the letters and sort them correctly. Well, my dad happened to be in town that day, wearing his hat and unaware of our little adventure. One group came running up to him and asked for his letter. Bemused, he replied: "Z!" This completely scrambled the poor group's efforts, and they returned back utterly confused, much to our family's amusement when we correlated events back at home that evening!
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