Ummmm....socks

 The cool kids at my school in the '70s and  '80s, would roll down their white summer socks as an indication of their rebellion.  The rest of us just folded them neatly as per uniform instructions.  I was never invited to join one of the popular cliques, and to be frank, I didn't want to.  Our schooling was pretty regimented and rigid in those days - sometimes to a ridiculous degree.  For example, as a five year old, I wore a pair of black lace ups to school, and once there, took them off, put them in a regulation shoe bag, and switched to a pair of brown  lace up shoes for the school day.  At home time, we reversed the procedure.  It boggles the mind thinking back on it.  At high school we had to have a white dress which we day girls wore exactly twice a year - at carol service and prize giving.  (Interesting choice of occasions to pair together don't you think?) Anyway, rolling the white cotton socks was seen as a daring breech of protocol.

I still fold rather than roll my socks.  There is no one I need to signal my coolness to these days, and I prefer an unbumpy feel on my ankles. At the end of last year I went to the 40th reunion of our matric year. (40th!) It was a stifling hot November day, so nobody was wearing socks of any description.  That made it very hard for me to remember who the cool kids were.  I did my best, and mingled with people I remembered from a different century, some of whom I didn't know, even with a name tag, and I am sure they didn't know who I was either.

School reunions are curious events.  Apart from reminiscing about "The Good Old Days", (and there are a lot of question marks around that statement) - I didn't really have anything in common with this group.  I still have friends from school - good friends and we see each other when we can, not just at ten year intervals.  Does collective experience create a good basis for community? Certainly Andrew's school mates are an incredibly social bunch of caring individuals who connect frequently.  I admire them for it.

After the reunion lunch, I didn't stay for a tour of the school.  I had a film premier to go to.  I had done the walk about a decade ago anyway when K was deciding which High School to go to, so I wasn't missing out.  The buildings and grounds are still beautiful - a Monument to Privilege and a gate way to higher education if we wanted it.

The memories that came up for me were more about the time period in my life than the school itself, although strangely certain patches of grass held special significance.  For example, there was one spot where our friends sat on a Friday at break, and we took it in turns to bring lunch for everyone.  My staple contribution was a delicacy, descriptively named by my mother, as Sore Fingers - a vienna sausage wrapped in a slice of white bread, smeared with tomato sauce.  (It was the 80s ok?) Another patch of memorable lawn was the grass in quad which was sacred, apparently, as it was strictly forbidden to walk on it. Punishable by death if I remember correctly.

Despite all its oddities this school was a good environment for me during my teenage years.  The rigidity and structure felt safe, and a couple of teachers allowed me to believe in myself.    Even if I didn't roll my socks down at school, I certainly rolled up my sleeves. Head down, mouth shut and hard work.  Sounds like a motto that could be used under the school badge.

Ummm...this started out as a piece about socks, but like the modern trend reinforced by Insta and Tiktok, it has meandered in a completely different direction.  So to tack back: I once asked my father what he would like as a gift - he was a difficult person to buy for at the best of times - and he answered  "Socks. They are useful, comfortable and you can never have too many."  I tend to agree with him about the comfort of socks.  People have been kind enough to gift me the most wonderful pairs, and every time I wear them I think of the givers.  The latest sets were ducks and daisies.  

It is still too summery to need socks, but when the moment comes, I may just be tempted to roll mine down.  Just to pretend for a moment that I am one of the Cool Kids. 

 

 

 

Thanks for the socks, Janet!

 

 

 

 

Ping!

 On the last Friday of our overseas adventure, we piled in the car and drove for about an hour towards the east coast.  We were headed for Symonds Salvage, a reclamation yard about half way between home and Dover.  I love poking around such places searching for treasures and generally exploring the past through other people's throw outs.  (We have been known to find and lug home such things as ancient footstools on previous trips.) 

 

 This expedition had almost been cancelled, as Thursday's weather was thoroughly unpleasant and all sorts of storm warnings had been issued. Andrew's brother had taken a day's leave and the wind died down by 6 am, so the four of us ventured forth.  Symonds proved to be a gold mine of beauty :  everything from gargoyles and ancient street lights to statues of David and wagon wheels.  So many roof tiles, benches, garden ornaments, mirrors, doors, planks of wood, wheellbarrows, doorknobs, silverware, old wood working tools....and stained glass windows. 

  I was there for the glass of course, and I made an offer on some panes, but the youngster at the reception desk was not in the mood to  negotiate or budge on the price.

Someone had dinged his car door, and his focus was definitely on trawling through the CCTV footage.

We spent a long time there, squelching through the mud, and marvelling at the collection. Salvage yards are art galleries too - a collection of human consciousness and expression.  I enjoyed this exhibition as much as all the other galleries I had visited.   Sadly my luggage allowance didn't permit me to bring home a statue of David or a gargoyle with moss growing out of its ears and nose.

We travelled on to Dover for a delicious fish and chips lunch at the seaside, before admiring the pebble beach.

The famous white cliffs were calling, and we wandered up a path amidst cows and freezing tourists.  The view is magnificent.  Grey seas stretched out before us, beckoning to the unknown.

My phone pinged. 

A new SMS :  Welcome to France.  Your new message and call rates will be sent to you shortly. (Or something like that - the message is on my UK SIM card, and I swapped it when we hit home soil.) 

France is a mere 32km away from the UK at Dover - almost spitting distance.  No wonder the service provider thought we might have crossed over.  Apart from the small inconvenience of the sea between us and Europe, we had no visas, so France was not a viable option as a dinner destination. 

Do you know when it seems you are close to something and yet so far away?  The welcoming ping reminded me of that feeling: Of almost being able to grasp something new, but it being frustratingly just out of reach, and not even clearly visible.  A destination you believe is out there, but that is not quite achievable at that particular time.  Or  other people may think you are at a certain place in your life but there is an ocean between you and that particular space?  It's all a bit bewildering. Perhaps it is because  I feel I should be at a different place in my life, and yet I secretly still feel a bit in limbo that all this was churning in my thoughts.

I had no desire to be in France that day.  I was right where I should be: having adventures with people I love and exploring quirky places just because I could.  My thoughts didn't have to drift into heavy philosophy and I didn't need to place expectations on where I should be in my life.

I knew my next destination:  Celebrating new beginnings with family, clinking champagne glasses, munching pizza and watching the final of Traitors.

It was a good day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Human Year

 Alexa and I have been chatting quite a lot since we've been in the UK.  The banter is mostly about the weather - it is a key topic of conversation here, and it is easy to see why.  I have come to appreciate that weather plays a huge role in anyone's lifestyle.  I am missing the Cape Town sunshine, but was delighted to experience falling snow here on Saturday. 

 Saturday snow

The weather in the UK disrupts a lot - wind causes trees to fall and trains to stop, rain regularly floods roads and makes them impassable.  Snow and ice - so beautiful - are slippery and dangerous. The weather determines the Who Where and What of any occasion.  Alexa maintains a cheerful tone throughout her announcements, and she doesn't get irritated that I ask her multiple times a day for a forecast.

I do ask her other things as well, and depending on her connections she can be helpful or just plain stonewalling.  "I am unable to help you with that"  was her response to my asking her to clarify some politics.  We have encountered two Alexas on this trip.  We spent New Year in Cambridge at Tom and Hannah's apartment as we opted for an exchange within an exchange to enjoy some family time together. (If you are new to this blog, you might want to google HomeExchange to make sense of all this!) 

Cambridge cows

 

Alexa is marketed as a "virtual assistant" and I can see the convenience of voice activated commands.  We turn lights on and off, set timers, play music, get the latest news headlines, see who is at the front door, turn on the TV with a simple sentence. On a superficial level, two things bother me:  the tone of voice we tend to use when talking to AI (sharp and commanding!) and the needlessness of any politeness.  I worry, in an old mother grundy type way that, as the words please and thank you are superfluous to a machine, many people may forget to use them in other contexts. Will we become so used to talking to AI that we forget how to play nicely?

On a slightly more complex level, Alexa seems to me to be the perfect household spy. Everything we say is data .  As a wise person once said to me : " If it looks like you are getting something for nothing, YOU are the product." I presume most of the data is used for marketing purposes, as Google learns about what you like and who you are.  I don't really like that. I am not that comfortable with people knowing too much about me (says she writing a blog.)

I was given a book about introverts for Christmas by a person who knows me exceptionally well.  (The title is Sorry I am late, I didn't want to come by Jessica Pan.) The author decides to spend a year as an extrovert.  I admire her courage and determination, but I am not sure I could attempt the challenges she sets herself.  We all have different challenges I suppose, and, as I am still not into new years resolutions, I won't ask you what epiphanies you had on 31 December.  I had none.  I was content to enjoy the moment of being together as a family.

I will keep my eyes open this year, however, for opportunities.  I might nudge myself into uncharted territories, because I can't think of a reason not to.

I will also be on the look out for AI creeping into my life.  As much as I enjoy the novelty of Alexa, she is difficult to have a meaningful conversation with.  We need each other for that.

Let's make 2025 a happy human year.

 

Direction

 Landmarks give us direction.  I have been lucky enough to live my life using Table Mountain as my compass.  It is hard to get too lost in Cape Town - when in doubt, I can look up and see where I am in relation to the mountain's benevolent shadow, and I can breathe out.  I know where I am.

It is slightly more difficult here in south London.  It requires a lot more effort for me to determine which direction is north, and where (temporary) home is.

Andrew talking to our neighbour

  It is slightly out of my comfort zone.  Looking out of the bedroom window on the third floor, I can see horses grazing in the fields, and a wood beyond.  If I look up a bit more, I can also see the Shard, and that grounds me and gives me a sense of place.

We are living in someone else's home for December and January, and they in ours.  This house swap has been months in the planning.  It is an incredible opportunity to experience a different way of doing things for a bit. London is on our doorstep ( a 30 minute train ride) and beloved family are close by.  We can have lunch with our son during his lunch hour. 

On our way to lunch...

We can celebrate his turning 30 in Cambridge.  Our daughter has been to visit her cousin in Oxford.  We are making the most of creating special memories.  But we are also just living ordinary lives.  Andrew is working online.  We are catching up on sleep.  Sorting out the usual monthly admin. Watching TV.  There is less need to rush around using every precious minute like on previous visits because we have the luxury of time.

I have ambled through both the Tate, and the Tate Modern art galleries, soaking up the visual beauty.  We have been to Borough market a couple of time, and drank in the hustle and bustle and smells of the wonderful foods on offer.  And I have achieved a tick on a bucket list item (more about that in another blog.)

Getting around on public transport is not something I do at home.  The trains and buses  here are efficient and close by. The London underground however, confuses me direction wise.  That is where I fear getting lost the most.  There is absolutely no landmark in a tunnel to tell you where north is, or if you are going the right direction.  Thank goodness for apps that make me feel less disorientated.

Doing things differently is both exhilarating and challenging.  My sense of (self) direction has shifted this past year or so.  My landmarks have changed, and sometimes I gaze up and wonder where I am in my life.  Sometimes I get tunnel vision, and wonder if I am going the right direction.  There are two options that I can see - either create new landmarks to be my  Table Mountain, or just get on the tube and see what direction it takes me, knowing I can get off at the next station if  I want (so to speak.)  I haven't decided which option to take yet, or if I can combine the two.

In the meantime, happy travelling - at home or abroad- to you - and thank you for your company on the journey. 

En route to The Tate.  Cold and wet

Borough market on a quiet day!

London is beautiful at night.  It is dark by 4.30pm.  That takes quite a bit of getting used to!!

 

unbelievable

 

 Our home will be welcoming new custodians for the months of December and January. We have arranged  a house swap with a family from the UK.   This promises to be an adventure par excellence!  So it is time to sparkle the space and make it neat and tidy.  Most of it is, but our work areas tend to get creatively messy.  I have started the process of cleaning the blood, sweat and tears (quite literally, I'm afraid ) from the room in the roof which is where I do my glass work.

I have just finished a big project, which used lots of glass, lead came, putty, linseed oil, baby powder, nails, and solder. It also involved courage, most of my head space and quite a few plasters. I was asked by someone who has buckets more faith in my abilities than I do (thank you, Donna) to create new leaded panes for a shop front in Observatory.  A truck and a storm had destroyed the originals.

work in progress...

The task seemed Herculean from the outset, but I have so enjoyed the challenge and sense of accomplishment.  And I have learnt so much along the way.  Mostly about measurements and cutting and sourcing the right glass, but also about asking questions until I understand what's what and believing that I am capable.  

We fitted the three panels on Saturday.  Andrew's expertise, patience and unwavering support made this possible, especially as it turns out that old buildings have their foibles and glass is not bendy. 

We shaved off some of the lead came with my power sander, chiseled offending bits of the wooden frame and eventually it all fitted together.  It was a huge relief and I am delighted with the result.

The thing about glass is that it is both tough and fragile at the same time.  It can withstand  the rain and wind battering it, and provides a barrier keeping the outside separated from the inside.  But it is easily breakable, particularly if you step on an edge it seems.  (I had to throw that piece away.)  Cutting glass starts with scoring - essentially you create a flaw or weakness in the glass before using pliers to complete the break. 

I think there is a reason I enjoy working with glass so much.  I can identify with the medium.  I know what it is like to be tough and fragile simultaneously.  I understand the importance of a shield between external and internal.  Our scars are our weak points, and where we are most likely to break.  I get all that.  But I also get the beauty of glass - how it reflects and refracts light, how it amplifies and frames a viewpoint. People have innate beauty in them.  Sometimes the panes just need a gentle wash for us to see an unclouded version.

 Self doubt has often been my shadow.  I have sometimes felt unbelievable, or unheard, and that has, in the past, put speed bumps in my path.  But recently I have allowed myself to see the possibility of potential.  Thank you to those of you who have encouraged me.

TaDa!

 

 

 

 

Crosswords

 I married Andrew (34 years ago!) for three things:  his ability to tie knots, his sense of direction and his new tech convection microwave oven.  Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and the microwave died gracefully a long while ago, to be replaced with a cheap, practical Do-The-Job-Quickly type.  But his ability to tie knots - a product of a long and illustrious scouting enthusiasm-, and his sense of direction have lasted. (Well, mostly.  He seems to have issues with where Noordhoek is.)  Which just goes to show that it is better to marry someone for what is on the inside, rather than what they own.  I am still very happy with my decision, and we celebrated this past weekend in Riebeek Kasteel.  (A quaint village close to Cape Town.)

We had chosen and booked the accommodation together, but Andrew had sneakily asked them to put some roses in the room for me.  He is thoughtful that way, and next to a wine cooler filled with flowers was a little note from management wishing us both a very happy anniversary of our "beautiful union."  I was touched.

And next to the vase was a welcome letter from the hotel, giving the wifi password, room service number to dial and a sincere wish that we should not hesitate to ask if we need anything.

I say "we", but it was addressed to Andrew only.  A small, unimportant detail you may think, but it shoots right to the heart of the invisibility of women.  Especially as it was placed next to the congratulations-on -your-union card.

Last time we went away, you may remember, the weather was foul , and we landed up playing Scrabble. (See Quite! blog if you don't know what I am talking about!)  Not this year - we decided on Crosswords instead.  

I say "Crosswords" but what I should write is Cross Words.  Some of them too rude to print.  I found myself in a fug on the morning of our departure, and anger welled up in me.  "This is as bad as our 10th anniversary," I fumed.  Our tenth anniversary is a distant memory, but not a good one.  Andrew and I were barely talking to each other, and we sat through a miserable dinner in an upmarket restaurant in Town, wishing we were somewhere else. Separately.  It was the year of fertility treatments, and if you have been there, you will know the strain it puts on a relationship.  Ours was near breaking point.

But here we are, battle scarred but stronger for it.  My fug lifted as we settled into our weekend away, and we had the most enjoyable time, reading, resting and reminiscing.  

 I am grateful we are travelling together, and I think getting angry with each other is part and parcel of any long term relationship.  It means both of us have a voice, even if I feel the need to raise it on occasion in order to be heard. 

Life isn't always about Facebook smiles.  Sometimes we need to tell the irritating truth.  Looking back over the past three decades, I can acknowledge the times when we haven't always seen eye to eye. That's ok with me.  We are two separate people with different opinions about many things.  It is our strength that we can weave our threads together into a knot that holds in stormy weather. 

 

 

Not a bad view, really!

 

Rowing into the blue(s)

My hands were tingling this morning.  I could feel the familiar blisters hardening where I was gripping the handles of the rowing machine, and the tiny cuts on the tips of my fingers from some ill judged glass handling yesterday stung slightly.  So I closed my eyes, before continuing my 3 kilometer row.  With my eyes shut, I could feel the soft breeze on my face, just enough to take away any harshness of the early morning sun.  The salt water lapped quietly each time I dipped an oar, and the boat rocked as the tide came into the lagoon.  Twinkle, the rowboat named back in the our childhoods, is solid, bright red, easy to navigate and unsinkable.  It is my happy place.

When I open my eyes, I am nowhere near the idyllic Sedgefield lagoon in the sunshine.  I am sitting on a mechanical rowing machine in the gym, and it is raining and blustery outside.  This is not my natural habitat.  I have never been a gym bunny .  I am a firm believer that bunnies belong outside, hopping in a field.

(Long ago, before children, Andrew and I glimpsed the sweetest looking rabbit frolicking in some wild grass in the grounds of Balmoral castle.   Scotland is  entrancing. Wandering in the summer mist and drizzle around the castle grounds, we thought it would be fun to walk in the footsteps of the royal rabbit.  We got quite close to the residence before we lost sight of the creature, so we turned round to head back. Only then did we notice the sign that Strictly Forbade us from entering the area close to the Royals.We quietly skulked off hoping not to be caught.  It was a lesson in reading signage in life if we want to say out of trouble.)

My gym membership is another step in my Year of Trying out New Things.  It is an attempt to slow down my osteoporosis, as the medication suggested by the doctor has unappealing side effects and long term consequences.  So far so good with the gym thing.  What helps is that we all go as a family, and as a extra bonus, Andrew's cousin uses the facility too, so it feels like a safe, friendly environment.  It also is a place that empasises health rather than appearance, so my oversized t-shirts and old takkies are perfectly acceptable attire.

My next challenge is to conquer The Changing Rooms.  I have yet to get my kit off and wander about in the altogether from shower to lockers. I am ok with this.  Baby steps.  I will put it on next year's Challenge list.

Rowing on a real lagoon in a real boat is obviously first prize. But in the meantime  I am happy to admire the callouses on my hand from indoor rowing as a sign that I am taking charge of my own body and health.  Luckily I have a vivid imagination, and  twice weekly I can press reset on the stresses of life and dip my oars into my reservoir of happiness.

 

Twinkle - the magical boat