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

Listening

 I am listening to a lot of podcasts at the moment.  They are easy air fillers and I have found topics that I find interesting.  Things like the Lance Armstrong scandal, or British politics from the 1970s, the Waco Deaths and  Spy stories.   Perhaps I just choose very polite presenters, but I have noticed at the end of a section, they thank me for listening.  I take that personally, even though I know that they are actually unaware of the exact details of who listens to them. I will take politeness wherever I can find it.

Podcasts don't take up too much concentration space and can be combined with other activities. And being recorded, if I miss a bit, I can always go back and hear it all again.  Live conversations on the other hand are a bit more complicated.  You get one shot at absorbing not only the words and the non verbal cues (like folded arms, or tears...) but you often have to interpret the feelings behind the words.  Often there is a lot of interference or "noise"  and meaning and intention get lost.  That can be frustrating all round. Some people are better at listening than others.  Really listening.  It is an art.  So often we are tempted  to jump in with a response when just an acknowledgement is needed.

I was thinking about this a couple of weeks ago as I was walking to a meeting up the road. It was a beautiful soft day, and as I  closed my back gate I heard a whoop of delight. Council workers were weed eating the field edges behind our house. One of the guys had found a R200 note stuck in the long grass.  His happiness at this windfall energised the air.  I gave him a thumbs up (the noisy weed eaters were drowning out any conversation possibilities) and continued on my way up the hill. I think that R200 was a significant find for him, and it gladdened my heart.

I was still smiling about this when, a short way ahead, I saw a Mom and her two little girls walking together.  The younger child was enthusiastically pointing to the sky and yelling "Aeroplane" as only a two year old can with complete delight and happiness. Her sister was about 4 I suppose, and she came hurtling towards me and wrapped her arms around my knees in a hug.  I bent down to reciprocate and the two year old joined in too.

I didn't think this day could get much better, but it did!  Andrew and I were travelling to Hermanus to pick up a friend for the weekend.  We stopped at the Peregrine farm stall in Grabouw and I showed Andrew one of my favourite spaces - Liberty Bookshop.

Liberty Bookshop (not my photo!)

 It is a wonderful place, with an eclectic collection of loved and unloved books, as the assistant described them (so much nicer than calling them second hand and new...) , and  they stock an interesting range of South African literature.  There is also a welcoming fire with a purring cat to add to the temptation to linger.  I highly recommend a visit if you are in the area and like that sort of thing. 

One of the books I picked up was Brutal School Ties; the Parktown Boys Tragedy by Sam Cohen.  It makes for harrowing reading, because it describes institutionalized abuse of the boys at this Johannesburg school and how much of the cruelty was put down to "Tradition." No one was listening to these youngsters of 13 and 14, until one brave child made a plan.  Hundreds of children have suffered trauma, because no one heard them.  Not just the words they did or didn't say, (and some did beg their parents not to send them back at the end of the weekend) but also their behaviour changes, and their grades falling to unexpected lows.  The communication got stuck in the ethos of "boys will be boys", and "traditional makes you stronger."

As a society we need to learn to listen more, and with more sensitive ears. There are so many knee-hugging good things that are happening, and if we can hear those things as well as the sadness, we can maintain a balance and not get overwhelmed. I was reminded to listen with my heart.

Your reading this - whoever you are - gives my voice an audience too, and I appreciate the time you give me, and for hearing me.

Thank you for listening.

Another birthday

In a few minutes we are expecting my family to descend on our house to celebrate K's 21st birthday.  This will be the second round of Happy Birthday singing - her friends came to a Hobbit themed party last weekend, and that was blustery fun.  I want to celebrate this marvellous human as much as possible - birthday or no birthday.  She makes the world a better place with her laughter, kindness and sense of propriety.

The hordes don't know it yet, but we have put together a slide show of photographs of special moments in K's life, and a fun quiz if anyone wants to join in.  We have a lot of photos, and sifting through the thousands this past week has been both a pleasure and a jolt for me. So many memories come up, and I felt both incredibly fortunate to have so many wonderful times in my heart, head and photo albums, and also more than a little sad.  Photos of people who can't share our celebrations with us any more, and the passing of time in what seems just a heartbeat, have made me tear up on more than one preview of the slideshow.

But I -we- are capable of holding two seemingly opposite emotions together at the same time.  The happiness makes the sadness bearable, and the sadness makes the happiness meaningful.

We tried the quiz out on her friends last week, and it was interesting to watch people's reactions.  Everyone organised themselves into groups and we gave each group a thick crayon and a clipboard of paper.  The quiet ones took notes while the videos were playing - what colour jersey K was wearing in the snow, who sang the backing track, what K wrote on the chimney with the power-hose while cleaning.  Others doodled, some producing quaint crayony pictures, others sat quite still and absorbed the information in picture form.  And it occurred to me that we all take in things in different ways, and there is no right way to learn or have fun.  They all seemed to enjoy the challenge - hence the repeat this afternoon with a different group.  I wonder how The Family will deal with it.

I like throwing an unexpected challenge out to people, as long as nobody takes it too seriously.  Challenges push our boundaries just a little and give us a taste of how doing things differently might increase our appetite for change.  And change we must, because being static is both impossible and unhealthy.  There are lots of changes happening here as K becomes more and more independent, and I adapt to adult children.  

It has been quite a year of celebrations so far, what with Andrew's 60th and K's 21st.  The rest of the year might seem a bit dull, unless we decide to fill it with new adventures and celebrations.

In the meantime we have cake to eat.  Happy birthday K.  I love you.

21 Years ago....

The Quantum Physics of identity

A while ago I met a stranger as I was plodding round a few blocks near home. He was walking his dogs in one direction, and I was doing the circuit the other way. At the second crossover, he stopped me and told me he could tell me a few things about myself. Intriguing, but I wasn’t born yesterday. In fact he asked me when I was born, as numbers and quantum physics combined is his Thing. I don’t see the correlation myself, but then again, I don’t stop random strangers on the street and offer insights into their lives. As I wasn’t in a rush it being a Sunday, I opted for politeness and told him my birth day and month. Not the year, of course.

 Sure enough his assessment was accurate - I am a nurturer, I like arty stuff, I am a very private person, I hold tension in my neck, I think about things, I need to put boundaries in place in my life. Same as you. And you. And your friends and family. People are happy to hear these generalizations because they are more or less flattering and more than a little vague. I couldn’t get him to part with the info of how quantum physics and my birth date had helped him with the assessment though. I did ask. That would have interested me more. He also told me I drive too fast, but safely. Ah no, not me. Specifics tripped him up, but I didn’t tell him. I smiled sweetly and plodded on.

 Truth be told, I looked him up when I got home. I may not be as talented as him with equating numbers to quantum physics, but I am a dab hand at a Google search. So it‘s safe to say I probably know more about him now than he knows about me. 

 Information is pretty public these days, and easily accessible. I have always had at the back of my mind the thought to write a novel about mistaken web identities and so have researched people with the same name as me. We are an interesting collection of women – we boast personal trainers, an actress, several CEOs, a marine biologist, estate agents, educational specialists and so many more diverse careers. It is interesting that that is how people define themselves – by how they earn money, rather than who they are. It bothers me a little bit, but that might just be because what I do doesn’t sound particularly glamorous. I am a Manager. It says so on my tax form. 

 We are all managers really. Everyone juggles needs, wants, abilities, necessities, to create a curated life that works for them. Sometimes I Manage better than other times; February is going better than January for example, as the hype of newness of the year and the rhythm of daily life has settled into familiar patterns.

 Last week I saw the same Strange Man quizzing another woman about her birth date, and I saw how she smiled sweetly at him as he told her, I assume, that she is an arty nurturer who overthinks and needs to hold less body tension. I wonder if she drives too fast too. I walked on. I had places to be. 

 

This is where I needed to be - on a Mother/Daughter getaway.  Bliss!

 

Sun and Ski

26 January:

Andrew is packing to go on his much anticipated Austrian ski holiday with his brothers.  We leave for the airport in two hours, and he is a bit more flappy than he usually is.  This trip is a celebration of Life as he hits 60. The brothers haven't had a joint adventure for too many years. (One lives in Canada, the other in the UK).   Underpants - tick.  Jeans - tick.  Long sleeved shirts - tick.  But when it came to socks there was an odd assortment of forlorn mismatched singles skulking at the back of the cupboard.  He found enough comfy matching pairs, and decided to part with some that had not yet morphed into hangers, and probably never will.  Almost there.  Ski pants and jacket - tick.  Book to read....   And he is ready!

Andrew on the move...

We celebrated his birthday yesterday.  It started with a leisurely breakfast in Kalk Bay (highly recommend the food at Chardonnay Deli), followed by a dip in the ocean.  It is pure bliss for me to float in sea salt with my ears under the water, bobbing to the gentle current.  It feels like being in Creation, with all external distractions floating away.  

Actually, I am hoping to make this  the Year of Distractions.  I fancy dipping my toes in new adventures, even if I discard them promptly or "fail" miserably.  So what.  I have made a start by signing up for an online course. K and I are sneaking off for a Daughter/ Mother weekend while Andrew is away.  I have started a new glass panel for nowhere in particular.   So the January distractions are doing well.  Who knows, by the end of the year, I may even have a cookie jar full of creative ideas and a house full of odd looking glass panels.

 

31 January:

Even my distractions get distractions it seems. Andrew is having a wonderful trip by the sounds of things - I am sure he will share his adventures with you when he gets back.  He sends daily maps of his ski runs, and of  people sunbathing in the snow.  I am hoping the brothers are having a good time of re-connection. 

 I have been enjoying having the extra space to uncap my eccentricness and lying low for a bit.  January is done and dusted. 2024 is well under way.  I hope it has started well for you.

 

29 January

25 January

 

 

Onwards and upwards.

 My Mother-in-law was a very practical person, and would often try to help me by showing me the right way to do things.  In my early years of marriage I probably wasn't as receptive to her advice as I could have been - youth doesn't often favour the wisdom of the next generation, I realise.  One of the useful habits I did pick up from her, was always to crack an egg into a cup or empty bowl, just in case it is rotten.  Then the whole mixture/ cake will not be wasted.  This advice stuck, and I still crack eggs one by one into a cup before adding them to a recipe, despite not often finding green eggs.  Yesterday was only the third time ever.

A rotten egg is pretty disgusting.  The greenish brownish slush stinks and needs a quick disposal to avoid stomach repercussions. And so the Malva pudding was saved yesterday, thanks to ancient wisdom.

I am not superstitious - I am perfectly comfortable with the number 13, black cats are delightful, and ladders are my friends (except when I broke a toe colliding into one whilst painting the lounge...) But rotten eggs make me uneasy.  I connect them with disaster.  There is a reason, which isn't very interesting, so I will skip the details.  It was  coincidences of bad eggs and bad news, but the feeling stuck.

So when I broke the egg yesterday my headspace looped into a bit of dread.  Easily shaken off with logic. Not so easily shaken off with heart.

What will 2024 be like? Andrew turns 60 in less than a month.  I will be turning 27 again in May (it will the 30th anniversary of my 27th birthday....) We are getting to the mildly decrepit stage of life.  I will give you an example:  we decided to go to the movies a few nights ago.  The film was bewilderingly bad, but we were happy that a) We had gone out, and b) The seats were really comfortable.  Sounds a bit fuddy duddy doesn't it!  So I am hoping to regain a youthful spark next year, and get stuck into some projects that are just for me.  For many a year it has felt as though I have been the background to other people's lives:  A support structure making sure they can get on with what they need to do.  But roles shift and change, and now maybe there is some more freedom to tentatively dip my toes in the ocean of otherness.

It is a bit of a void, and a little daunting.  Maybe that was yesterday's heart space.

Onwards and upwards, always....as we say in our family.  Happy New Year. May 2024 bring peace.

 

 

 

Documented proof that green eggs are not particularly appetizing at first glance.....