March | 2026 | Adventuring into Retirement

Here are my answers to this week’s SYW from Di

Can you speak a second language?
When I was growing up in South Africa, Afrikaans was introduced as a second language from the very first year of school. In my area, though, there weren’t many Afrikaans speakers, so I rarely heard the language outside the classroom. By the time I reached my final year, I could get by, but it was definitely my weakest subject. A second language really only settles in when you have plenty of everyday conversation, and that was something I’d never had.
After college, I spent a year at university completing a special diploma in Speech and Hearing. There were eight of us in the programme—four English-speaking and four Afrikaans-speaking—and I became close to the Afrikaans group. They took it upon themselves to teach me to speak their language properly. They refused to speak English to me or to respond if I slipped back into it. Their determination paid off: within three months, I was fluent.
To work as an itinerant speech and language teacher, you needed a higher-level bilingual certificate, essentially taking your second language on the higher grade. Thanks to my friends’ relentless coaching, I achieved it by the end of that year and went on to teach in both English and Afrikaans schools for five years.
I’m now mentoring a little girl who already juggles three languages. Her home language is Shona, and she attends a dual‑medium school nearby where she hears both English and Afrikaans in the classroom. She’s now completely fluent in English and Shona, and she understands and communicates beautifully in Afrikaans as well. It’s remarkable for an eight‑year‑old who is simultaneously learning to read, write, and calculate.
I’ve always believed that speaking more than one language is a tremendous advantage. English speakers, in particular, can be a bit complacent about learning other languages because there’s an assumption that everyone else will learn English, so why make the effort? The truth is, not everyone speaks English, and equipping yourself with even a basic vocabulary in the language of the country you’re visiting is absolutely worthwhile.
I’m grateful I did this with Italian, because my husband unexpectedly landed in an Italian hospital where, apart from the doctors, no one spoke English. Those few words and phrases I’d learned made a real difference. And of course, I‑Translate was a lifesaver too.

Can you remember any popular novelty gadget from the past that is not so widely available today?
Another item that’s not quite a gadget but definitely belongs in the “things we once took for granted” category is the old‑style warming cabinet. In the eighties and nineties, you could walk into almost any homeware store and find one, usually under the brand names Hostess or Butler. They were wonderfully practical, keeping dishes warm before a meal. Most of my friends owned Hostess warmers, while I owned a loyal old Butler. And because my husband did most of the cooking, a friend laughed and said, “Trust you to get a Butler rather than a Hostess!”

When we packed up to move to Struisbaai, I reluctantly sold my old Butler, convinced there wouldn’t be space for it in our new home. I replaced it with a smaller countertop version, which served me well for a decade, even though it needed the occasional repair. Then, as luck would have it, a friend decided to sell her old Hostess. I didn’t hesitate. A small payment and my little cabinet as a trade‑in, and I finally had a proper warming cabinet again. And yes – I found a space for it! This particular cabinet needed to be derusted, and I managed to get that done for a reasonable fee too. Money well spent – I am delighted to have such an item back in my inventory!

Can you juggle?
Lovely question! – I can juggle three small things in the true sense of the word – but not for very long.
In my past life, I could juggle everything I needed to do in a day quite effortlessly. Not so much nowadays!

AI-generated Me juggling tasks 10 years ago!

What is your favourite snack food?
Chocolate counted as an essential food group in my teaching days, and I treated it accordingly. If the staffroom coffee/hot‑chocolate machine went on strike, I was not far behind. My principal would pat my arm and say, “Give it twenty‑four hours, Helen — it’ll rise again.”

AI-generated me freaking out over NO HOT CHOCOLATE

I’m over that now that my life is calmer – a square of dark, chilly Lindt will keep me happy for days.

Gratitude:
A fun one from Susan this week. IMO a little dirt didn’t hurt anyone.

I am certainly grateful for the dirt roads I have taken, both literally and figuratively.

Seen on a dirt road in Kruger National Park

I’ve been rather absent from the blogosphere lately, only managing the occasional quick visit. A few disruptions to my usual routine — along with a small hiccup in my own health — have kept me from settling back into my normal rhythm. Not that my routine is ever what you’d call normal — there’s always some minor drama or spontaneous adventure popping up to keep life from getting dull.

But enough with the excuses — I’ve been itching to introduce you to the feline visitors who are utterly convinced my home is their personal kingdom. So, without further ado, dear reader, allow me to present the first instalment of the furry visitors who more or less run my life. (Thank you to their humans for allowing me to blog about their pets)

I don’t know what it is about our place that attracts the feline species, but over the past three years, no fewer than four different cats have made our house their second home.

When we retired, we made the decision not to have pets. Our plan was to spend long stretches adventuring in our caravan, and national parks don’t allow fur babies. As lifelong animal lovers, both domestic and wild, this was indeed a huge sacrifice. For a while, our only joy came from the pets of our children in Cape Town and Plettenberg Bay, or from friends who brought their dogs and cats along when they visited.

A few years before the feline invasion, two feral bunnies used to visit. They brought endless entertainment, hopping through the garden and nibbling at the greenery. Sadly, one disappeared and then the other. Rabbits like to be free, but freedom comes with dangers—from dogs and birds of prey to locals who see them as lunch. Their absence left a quiet gap in our garden life.

One of the bunnies enjoying the greenery

Then came the day our neighbours introduced their Siamese kittens to the great outdoors. Within minutes, those curious explorers had scaled the dividing fence, with young Syd hot on their tails. The Earl and I were in the garden at the time, and he wasted no time in encouraging them to investigate every corner. That moment marked the beginning of a joyful change in our lives.

On that fateful day, we were introduced to Alan and Mike. These two quickly became regular visitors, padding through the garden and into our house as if they owned it. Their presence brought laughter, companionship, and a sense of connection we hadn’t realised we were missing. Alan, however, soon revealed himself to be the bossy one—his loud, commanding meow keeps even Mike in line.

No permission asked to sit here – Mike left Alan -right

Next came Mimi, a little ball of grey furriness who rolls over and purrs the minute she sees you. She doesn’t want to be picked up—just strokes and tickles will do, thank you very much. At first, Mike and Alan resented her presence, but eventually a tolerant truce was reached. Mimi lives across the road, and the Siamese had already met her before she began visiting us. I’m convinced Mike is secretly in love with her, though Alan insists on being the only cat in charge.

Mimi on the birdbath – uh oh – Birds beware!

Most recently, a smart cat in a tuxedo began hanging out in the garden. At first, he would dart away whenever we approached, much to the Siamese’s delight. But eventually, he allowed us to pet him, and soon nothing could stop him from coming indoors. For months we called him Peanut, until I eventually tracked down his owner and discovered she was a schoolgirl who called him Charlie. (This young girl’s mom and I later connected through a series of blog posts I did for the company for which she is the marketing agent – small world!)

Charlie is his own man—aloof, dignified, and uninterested in laps. He’ll rub against you and accept a pat, but he ignores Alan’s hissing and screaming until he’s had enough. Then, a chase and a cat fight ensue. Because Alan was here first, he gets preferential treatment, and we whisk him off to the bedroom when tensions rise. Charlie, however, seems deaf to our pleas to visit only when Alan isn’t around. He and Mike aren’t exactly the best of friends but they tolerate each other.

So now we have four regular feline guests: Alan, Mike, Mimi, and Charlie. Each has a distinct personality, each has chosen us in their own way, and together they’ve turned our home into a lively stage of feline drama and affection.

We may not have set out to be pet owners in retirement, but life had other plans for us. The cats who wander into our house remind us daily of the joy animals bring, even when they aren’t officially “ours.” They’ve turned our home into a place of unexpected companionship, and for that, we’re grateful.