Books

books

Despite my  (or maybe because of my) love of reading and books, I have never belonged to a book club.  I am not much of a wine drinker, to be honest, and that seems to be a prerequisite these days.  But that is not the real reason, obviously.  It is more that I am just not much of a group person, and prefer seeing people on a one to one basis, so I can enjoy their company and chatting without group dynamics.  I am pretty much the same way with books - I am not one of those people who can have several books "on the go" at the same time, dipping into each for a little bit.  I like to focus my concentration on a particular text and give it my full attention.  This is probably because I get deeply involved in my books.  I enter wholeheartedly into the plots, the characters' lives, the page turning, even the punctuation. I am a bit obsessive - I can see that!  I am also wary of recommending books to a group of people because my experience of a book is very unlikely to be the same as yours.  Reading is not only about the words on the page, but also about where your thoughts are at a particular time; whether the sun is shining on the chair you like reading in, whether the dishes are done, who is at home, how the children are.  You know what I mean.  It's personal.

I admire people who belong to book clubs.  They are readers and thinkers and sharers, and the world needs as many of these people as possible.   Their commitment to supporting the print industry is important too.  I am just not one of them. 

More books

Andrew jokes - at least I hope he is joking!- that if I buy any more books and put them upstairs, the floor might cave in under the weight. We would be pulverised by literature.  I do have a large collection -  I have a wealth of words.  And I am very happy to share my bounty with you - come and see if anything takes your fancy, or I can set you up on a blind date with a book I think might be a good fit. No questions asked when you return it. As long as it's personal.

I have just finished reading a memoir that left me feeling raw, and shaken, and moved.  There was a vague synergy between this book and where I find myself at the moment.  When I put it down, I felt bereft, and took a while to leave her world and re inhabit my own body.  Such is the power of reading for me.

Some books are just pure escapist fun - I love a good weekend read that leaves me smiling and happy and admiring people who have the gift of giving joy to so many people.

Even more books....

I worked in the adult literacy field many moons ago.  It was such gratifying work, because I can't imagine a world without reading. It plays such an integral part in our lives. From work to entertainment, social networking to life management, reading and writing are the backbone of how we live.  

To me, words are personal.

 

 

 

Seeing the light

 

 While the northern skies were lighting up with spectacular colours a couple of weeks ago, I was having quite a powerful green aura myself.  Seeing the Aurora Borealis has been on my bucket list for as long as I have owned a bucket.  So, as much as I loved seeing the pictures online, I will admit to being more than a tad jealous that so many people were just casually living my dream.

"Feel like a small adventure?" Andrew asked on that Sunday evening.  I agreed without knowing exactly what he was suggesting.  I had been dragging my feet, in a slumped sort of May Month way (apparently I am not the only one who finds May difficult!!) Andrew had read that Australia, at 32 degrees south, had had some good sightings of the Southern Lights, so Cape Town at 34 degrees might, just might, have the privilege of a show. I was all in.  We thought that at 10pm it would be properly dark, so we bundled into the car, Andrew and O with tripods and cameras, K and me with enthusiasm and warm jerseys.  We drove out past Millers Point, beyond the city lights.

Nothing.  Except a clear darkness.

But it wasn't the let down it could have been.  The sky was beautiful.  The sound of the sea was gentle and all of a sudden the world seemed possible again.  I didn't need a spectacular show or a once in a lifetime occasion.  The quiet stillness of the moment was more than sufficient. It was an important mind shift for me.

Andrew took some creative, beautiful photos, using the tripod and a long exposure.  Here is one:

 

I love this image.  But the thing is - this isn't what was visible  to me with the naked eye.  It was just black skies and water out there.  I began to realize that the photos posted in the media might just be long exposure too - who knows - that made the colours seem more extraordinary through the lens than to the people who were just gazing up. There were some lovely pictures taken the night before at Gansbaai,  a small coastal village about 160km from Cape Town.  So maybe if we had tried the night before....

My aura reduced to a mild mint colour instead of the violent green. Beauty is where we find it, and even if we are looking for something spectacular, the ordinary can be awe inspiring too.

There are plenty of other items on my bucket list, and the Northern lights has just slipped down a couple of places in the wish order.  I don't really need to see them anymore.

Now if I can just sort out my May maladies...

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.....