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

Background noise

There is a consistent buzz in my head.  It is more of a low hum, and sits just between my thoughts lobe and the irritation cortex in my brain.  Sometimes it is all I can concentrate on, and it leads me to despair. Please make it stop. It is an environmental noise, and a month or so ago, Andrew and I spent a Saturday evening trying to locate its origin.  Andrew is an engineer in almost every fibre of his being, so he had a mathematical plan.  We would triangulate the sound.  Yes - this was news to me too.  I would have just ventured out, fuelled by sheer determination, and stabbed blindly in the dark, hoping to get closer to the irritation.  But using the scientific method worked.  We drove to one edge of Pinelands, hoppped out the car, made silent assessments of the direction and intensity of the sound, and then conferred.  We could agree on direction.  I wrote down our findings in my notebook, and we drove to a different corner of the suburb.  Rinse and repeat, until we had plotted the possible area by intersecting the notebook lines.

And there it was, tucked away in a back street in a neighbouring industrial area.  Even at 8.30 on a Saturday night it was churning out steam and noise.  It is an massive plant that looks to me a bit like a mine with corrugated walkways and conveyor belts. And a security guard who walked up to us to see what we were doing there on a drizzly evening. The company manufactures oils and margarine products.

I was glad to have found out where the annoyance was coming from.  I knew it wasn't all in my head, but locating it exactly made me feel a lot better. I could direct my anger at a particular company rather than just vaguely thinking it must be somewhere out there.  Information is calming.

Sometimes I get lost in the trap that something is "all in my head."  And to be fair, a lot of thoughts do get stuck up there and need to be coaxed out.  

I am wondering if I can use this triangulation system to pinpoint other noise in my life.  If I stand and look at something that is bothering me from one angle, jot down my results, walk some distance away (metaphorically) and note the problem from a different angle, rinsing and repeating until I can work out the intersecting point,  maybe I can  find a cause and create a solution.

My heart hurts at the moment.  I don't know why - it feels as if a ball of wool (mottled blue!) has been cut through with a pair of scissors and there are all these loose ends sticking out and if I pull one, the whole thing may unravel. It is probably all in my head, but I am going to test the triangle theory with this as a case study.

Beautiful Peaceful Sedgefield

Recently we slipped away for to Sedgefield for a few days, and had a glorious holiday.  Highlights included painting rocks, having my face splat with shaving cream, eating celebratory pecan pie and NOT having this constant droning sound in my ears. Coming home made me even more aware of it and its effect on me.

 

 

 

I think it is the frequency that bothers me most.  Not so much the Hertz, but how often I can hear it - even now at 11 on a Sunday evening, the drone continues.  It is non stop. Time, I think, to phone City Council and see if there is any recourse. Enough already.  

 

A creative community project in Sedgefield - we left our contributions to be added!

 

 

 

A face full of shaving cream - part of a hilarious Task Master game we were playing....

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.