Quite!

 A few weeks ago Andrew and I celebrated a wedding anniversary.  (Our own, actually - but we will be very happy to celebrate yours too if you send us the details...) This year the celebrations were wild - a storm hit Cape Town, and rain lashed the mountainside at our getaway.  So we chose the most obvious form of  adult indoor entertainment - we played Scrabble. As usual we were pretty evenly matched until that annoying stage when the board is full and all the high scoring letters have finally been pulled from the bag. (Are they weighted slightly more heavily, so that they sink to the bottom of the bag and are pulled out last, do you think?).  To get rid of the "Q" I offered the word "QUIT", and I was happy enough with the score.  But  Husband decided to add an "E", and write another word, turning my quit into QUITE, scoring himself very many points, and a frosty smile from me. 

This last week Andrew suggested I bring the Scrabble board with me during visiting hour. He has been in hospital fighting a nasty leg infection.  The antibiotics prescribed at A&E and the GP weren't working, so he was admitted to be dripped and prodded and xrayed and checked.  It has been quite an ordeal.  Andrew does not take illness lying down, except when he is forced to.  Now he has no choice, as that leg needs to be elevated, and he needs to rest.  

I found it quite scary.  There is nothing quite like a hospital ward to help one face the fact that everyone is mortal. It is something that is obvious and everyone knows in the back of their thoughts.  But hospitals smell different.  There is uncertainty  in the air, and the acknowledgement that everything  can change from solid to fragile very quickly.  Andrew was in the same ward that my Dad died in a few months ago, and that probably added to my feeling of fragility.  But the care and service was good, (according to Andrew), with the exception of the food.  Nothing new there!  In fact if you start to like the hospital food, it might be time to gather the family.

I reckoned that the Scrabble board wouldn't fit on the bed table so I didn't take it when I went to visit.  Besides Andrew was in a 4 bed ward, and I didn't think it was a suitable game for a public space.  He would have to make do with my scintillating conversations and the books I brought him.  It had absolutely nothing to do with my bruising loss last game.  

Andrew is back home now, and recovering nicely.  We discussed the need for him to possibly give himself a break from the continuous busyness that is his norm.   We'll see - old habits are hard to break.

This is the view from the hospital parking area.  It struck me as quite beautiful as I sat there one day - the mountain, the greenery, even the traffic - a mixture of the unmovable, the seasons and the flow of life.  We are so fortunate with the standard of (private) healthcare in South Africa, and in the beauty of the environment.  If we look carefully, and give it some thought, it doesn't take much to move from a desolate feeling to one of understanding and agreement - changing quit into quite.

That's something we can all celebrate.  And Craig -  you were absolutely right in predicting this blog.😄

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Travelblog

Those people who say Life is about the Journey, not the Destination, don't travel Economy class on long haul trips.  This time last week we were chatting to an over zealous check-in assistant at Heathrow airport, who thought the battery in the built-in scale of Andrew's suitcase, might pose a security risk. We were coming home -via Doha- after the most fabulous two weeks in the UK. 

The absolute highlight was also the reason for this trip - we were privileged enough to watch our son receive his PhD in Mathematics from Cambridge University.  I guess it is a private sort of moment to see someone you love achieve something he has worked so hard for.  I can't yet put into words the explosion of celebration I felt on a synaptic, cellular level.  Being together as a family was the background of happiness, celebrating is the overlayer of  fireworks and champagne.

Trinity graduates walking to Senate House

Even the weather smiled on us that Friday - the daily drizzle stayed away.  After the Latin ceremony (I had brushed up on Duolingo and could follow most of it), Trinity treated us to lunch in the college grounds.  We celebrated later with a sublime dinner.  What a day.

I know, I know.....here we go again, me bubbling over with green-making potions.  But it has been a tough, exhausting year, and this was just the reset I needed.  Let me bubble a bit.

We started our trip in Surrey with much loved family, walking country lanes, eating, laughing, catching up.  Trying to forget that we live continents apart, and time together like this has to be savoured and put in the memory bank because the distance is so great. 
The teenage niece taught me to Just Dance, as my attempts at Mario Kart (these are Wii games) have not improved in the last 6 months and probably never will.  I am ok with that.

 

 

We stayed one night in the very middle of London - Piccadilly Circus -  and managed to tick off a few of the sights we really wanted to see. 

If you want details of the V and A or Science museum visits, or the interesting statue in one corner of Trafalgar Square, or how K got pickpocketed, or Spitalfields market send me a DM.  :)

But on to Cambridge (via a non functioning rail trip...) .  It is a magical place, with beautiful buildings, parks, and abundance of museums (opening hours are strange - best to check), a market,  quaint shops and something of interest around every corner, and of course the river Cam. It helps to have family with inside knowledge of  whats-on too.  S suggested we try a Shakespeare from the selection being performed in the colleges' gardens. What fun to picnic beforehand and belly laugh through the wit of Much Ado about Nothing in the grounds of St Johns College.  Not even the bracing dampness could spoil the evening.....

I will mention just two more things (hope your tea is still hot - otherwise I can wait while you make another cup) :  Another trip to the theatre, and what to do on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

R treated us all to tickets to see the Agatha Christie play, "Witness for the Prosecution" .  The theatre is the County Hall in London (next to the London Eye), and used to be the Greater London Council headquarters.  So the setting is perfect for a courtroom drama, and if you are sitting in particular seats, you will be chosen for jury duty. It is immersive theatre at its best, well acted, fast paced and more of an experience than just a play.

It was raining quite heavily on the last Saturday we were there.  Cambridge is definitely a Walking Zone ( we averaged about 10km a day) and after a fancy brunch at a restaurant, we decided we needed an indoor activity. R and S knew just the place.  We were lucky to get a table for a couple of hours at the Board Game cafe, slightly out the centre of town.  And we spent two happy hours playing board games from their large (over 500) selection, sipping tea, chatting, and you guessed it - more laughing. The vibe is relaxed and animated, the perfect way to spend some quality family time together on a wet weekend.

We had such a good holiday, that we just let the airport official fuss about the battery in Andrew's case without it bothering us or us needing to show him the absurdity of his logic.  His supervisor did that anyway.  Airports can be stressful environments, as we were reminded right at the beginning of this journey.  K sometimes holds her breath when her back pack goes through the x-ray machine, as she carries insulin and needles and such like paraphernalia. And indeed at Cape Town International, her bag was sent for second look.  She explained the situation, started hauling out the doctor's letter, but the official said no, that wasn't what they were looking for.  Security isolated the object of concern.  It was a toy car that K was carrying with her in memory of her grandfather.  (They had a thing, and indeed a whole language, about vehicles. ) Apparently a toy is of more concern than the needles and medicine vials. 

I guess in life, the journey and the destination are equally important and  indeed symbiotic.  But should you get stuck in the airport of life and happen to be in Doha, head to Terminal C - there is a cool, misty indoor garden to enjoy while you wait for your next flight and choose your next destination.

        

 

 

 

 

Try Without Succeeding

 Hushed phone calls when I was a kid were always bad news. Good news is greeted with exuberance and happy laughter, so muted calls meant something was wrong. The phone in my childhood house was on a table next to the front door.  And it was decidedly unmovable, being plugged in and stuck to the wall.  This meant privacy was in tone of voice rather than distance from people.  Communication really has changed over the last half century - As a teenager I didn't imagine that one day I would be able to leave the room or find a quiet spot to have a private conversation on a cell phone.

The particular conversation I am thinking about was not unexpected, and pretty trivial really. I had failed a Spanish dancing exam, and my teacher was telling my mother who had to tell me.  It was a big deal to my teenage self though - not the actual event (I knew I had done terribly on the day), but the heavy feeling of having let all and sundry down, and not being good enough.  

It - Failure- is a concept that I have been mulling over at the very back of my thoughts this last little while.    Failure means, to quote a dictionary, "the fact of someone or something not succeeding."  Which is only useful if success is defined.  Success is the "accomplishment of an aim or purpose. "  (I used the Cambridge University dictionary for both definitions.)

It is all pretty obvious, uncomplicated stuff.

Except.

Failure comes loaded with social judgements, doesn't it?  Mostly negative connotations, which really are just a social construct.  What I mean by that, is that for failure to hurt, it needs an audience or a comparison. As you know, I love working with glass.  If I am trying out a new glass design and for some reason it doesn't work - if it cracks, or breaks or looks hideous, I just look at what went wrong, try again, and chuck attempt number 1 (or 2 or 89...) away.  But if I am demonstrating my glass skills to a group, and mess up spectacularly (Incorrect cutting, sometimes even resulting in blood letting!, or wrong firing time in the kiln for example...) that might be deemed a failure.  I have failed to achieve the goal of showing others  my ability and love of the medium of glass, and may even have put them off trying for themselves.

That's just an example, but you know what I mean.

Wouldn't t be better if failure was stripped of its negativity.  It is the first step to finding something out, to becoming better at what we try. 

(There are big exceptions of course - nobody wants to fail on their first attempt at solo sky diving for example. Nobody wants Eskom to fail.)

Who are we trying to please anyway?    Most failures are not catastrophic, and if we stop comparing ourselves and are open to learning from our experience, failure can be a good thing.  It doesn't have to be a hushed tone conversation.  I guess in the case of the dancing exam, I was trying to please my teacher (and it was probably a black mark for her studio), my gran who paid for the lessons, and my parents. (A feature of childhood is trying to impress and please your parents/caregivers, or rebel in the attempt if that fails....)  I didn't ever do another dancing exam, and that was a huge relief. So, rather than the big red F scrawled on the mark sheet, I would like to say, I Tried Without Succeeding.

There were plenty of hushed toned conversations in the house I grew up in - and I am sure in yours too if you grew up in a  pre-cellphone era. These days we just politely excuse ourselves from the room, or put down a call we don't want to take at a particular time, and we have a lot more privacy available to us.  Or not.  Social media allows the world into our lives, but not too many of us put up posts about the times we Try Without Succeeding.  Perhaps we should.  It might encourage others to do the same, and balance the scales of how success is achieved.

 

 

Me in the1980s.  I loved dancing. 

All dressed up in our back garden.

 

Picture Perfect

 Since we know each each a bit better now - you have seen the contents of my pantry, and had a look at other bits and pieces in the dining room - I thought I would invite you into the bedroom. I have thought long and hard about this, as some things are Pretty Personal, and this is, obviously, one of those spaces.  But here we go:  This is the painting that hangs on my bedroom wall:

I love everything about this water colour:  the tumbling water, the moody sky, the feeling of remoteness and tranquility of the countryside mixed with the chimneyed warmth of home. And a few stray sheep to add a sense of the space being inhabited.  We found this painting in the early 1990s, wandering around Art in the Avenue in central Cape Town. ( A space where artists would set up their work out in the open in the tree lined avenue next to the Company gardens, near St Georges Cathedral.  A wonderful wander on a Sunday afternoon, with squirrels to feed, and surrounded by heritage.) The art -and the artist- spoke to us and told us to buy it and enjoy it forever.  We listened, and over 30 years later, it still brings me an enormous sense of peace.

Fast track to 2004, about 10 years after our Sunday meander.  Something unbelievable happened.

We were purposefully lost, driving  an unplanned route somewhere in Yorkshire. The four of us were in the UK, travelling in a hired car off the beaten track because we were in no hurry, and wanted to absorb as much of the beautiful countryside as we could.  On reflection, kudos to our kids, who were 10 and 1 years old at the time, and quite happy to go on gentle adventures with us without traumas and tantrums. They were the easiest of travel companions. Anyway.   The road was narrow and winding, connecting hills with dales and only a squiggly thin line on the big paper map.  Not a major route or tourist path. Andrew slowed down, and then reversed the car a little, and we sat and stared, mouths open, in a mixture of wonder and disbelief.  This is what we saw:

I don't understand how that could be.  How had we managed to find the same river and the same house out of the millions and millions of possible places to travel?  It felt as though we had stepped through the picture frame in our home in Cape Town to a surreal reality.

It is hard for me to describe how much this experience means to me, or why. I just know that I felt a cosmic connection, a sort of bridge between imagination and reality, space and time, brush strokes and bricks and mortar.  It remains a deeply personal part of my life, a part that does not have to be understood, just enjoyed.

Art plays a role in the shared consciousness of us all.  It is a language that crosses continents and cultures, an expression of our interpretation of the world we live in and the lives we lead.  Every morning, I awake to see that the real and imaginary worlds have collided and it is possible to inhabit both simultaneously.   That is the gift of this painting that hangs on my bedroom wall.

 

 

 

Happy New Year?

This year, for many people, Happy New Year was more of a hesitant question than the bold exuberant greeting.  For the buoyantly optimistic, it is the start of what has to be better times, but for many jaded people it is a whispered sigh of disbelief.  There is just too much sadness, confusion and tiredness going round to believe that this will, indeed, be a happier new start to the previous years.    

In decades past, Andrew's parents were part of the street party generation.  On old year's eve, the neighbourhood would gather with their filled tupperwares and bottles of wine and party the night away.  At midnight, they cranked up an old siren and welcomed the new year in loudly and enthusiastically.  My family of origin were often in Sedgefield and as there was no electricity (or water - we pumped our water supply by hand from ground water....), it was a quieter affair. I liked that we rolled with the rhythm of nature - sunrise and sunset being our clocks.  (The Fiddler on the Roof song comes to mind.....one year following another..........)

The turn of the century was probably one of my most memorable New Year's Eves.  We (Andrew, R and me - K was an unborn treasure at that point) went to Milnerton beach, and watched the fireworks across the bay.  Do you remember the underground panic that was doing the rounds at that time? The Y2K phenomenon was seen as a Clear and Present danger. The threat was all/most/some technology would stop working because of the date change. (Here's a wiki link for you Young People who haven't heard of this: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Year_2000_problem ) January 1 2000 came and went and the Y2K worry faded into obscurity.  The scientists handled the problem, and the conspiracy theorists found themselves without a cause. If only 1 January 2022 could have been as unremarkable...

This year, we were roadtripping over New Year.  Andrew's sense of adventure (and direction) leads us on some offbeat paths.  We were cruising the dust roads in the mountains behind Barrydale when we came across 2 farm gates stacked one on top of the other.  Tall cattle we assumed.  Or giraffes, we laughed.  But no....rather unbelievably, we saw elephants. We had stumbled across a private nature reserve (in case you are thinking elephants roam the streets in South Africa....).  What a treat to observe these magnificent creatures. It felt like a gift.  Barrydale was lovely too, and we saw the new year in after playing board games with friends, clinking our sparkling wine just after 11.30 (I decided we had waited long enough!) 

But I am ever mindful of the time of loss we are in.  I think one of the greatest losses is our ability to have the confidence to be happy and care free.  We are all too aware how everything can be snatched away in the blink of an eye.  Life is fragile. 

Happy New Year?  Let's wait and see.

Magnificent animal

 

View from the stoep in Barrydale

On the shelf

 

.Most Mondays I wish we embraced minimalism more as a family.  That is because Monday is dusting day, and we seem to have a lot of Stuff.  I am lucky enough to work from home (I was a trend setter way before Covid made us all work from home!), so I can juggle my different roles according to need.  Usually the greatest need on a Monday morning is cleaning the house.  We dirty hard over weekends.  Some Mondays I grumble round the house,  dusting only the worst of it.  Housework is dull, repetitive and never ending. Other days, I take a more mindful approach, and use the exercise to examine how lucky we are to have all that we have when people survive with so little.  Today I took the Memory approach - spending a little time thinking about why we have the trinkets we have on display, and how the moment that led us to acquiring them, has shaped our lives.  

See exhibit A : The Shelf.

 

What a collection of treasures!  Where to start!  There are 2 containers of stones (near each end).  They are just ordinary pebbles and stones with absolutely no apparent special features.  But actually, they are a collection of a path we travelled in 2010 when we went overseas as a family.  Most of the stones were collected by our then 7 year old daughter, mostly on Hampstead Heath and other bits of London.  Some came from Paris and Rome, and were brought home in a steadily heavier backpack she carried all over Europe with her.  So many memories of paths travelled, some angsty times (another blog maybe) and of our earth moving experience.

The pottery hippopotamus is called Art.  It has no function at all except to look beautiful.  We were at that stage of our marriage where things needed a purpose, as the budget was tight.  A bit sheepishly, I gave it to Andrew and told him it was Art.  He returned the favour with the carved Hoepoe - a bird we associate with the beauty of Sedgefield, and many happy family holidays.

There are quite a few items our Son has brought us from his overseas trips - a tea pot and cups (centre) from Thailand.  Silver looking goblets which are wooden, coated in tin, from Argentina.  A leather decorative Yurt from Kazakhstan. Maths and Computer programming olympiads have taken him all over the world, and we are lucky enough to have some reminders of his full passport.

The tall blue candle sticks were found in Barrydale on a road trip we did a few years ago.  Andrew loved the colour and shape, and what more do you need to add it to a collection of memories.  I can't look at them without remembering the massive milkshakes at Diesel and Creme in Barrydale, or the rest of the trip including a rather wonderful pottery in Robertson.

I won't bore you with the rest - suffice to say that shelf carries a load of Important Stuff with absolutely no monetary value at all.  Aliens or house redecorators would throw it all out without a backwards glance, not realizing the true wealth that comes with such dust collectors.

So today"s cleaning stint was OK. I am not going to pretend I love doing the housework, but I absolutely believe that we should all clean up our own mess.  (I don't clean Andrew's office, or Daughter's room - they can enjoy their own memory dust. ) Sometimes I wish I had a magic wand that I can wave over the house and it would sparkle with no effort.  But life doesn't work like that, unfortunately.

And when the dust settles, all we really have in life are the memories we make.   There is magic in creating a legacy of those.