Slow

Slowing down is what we do as we get older, right? These days several activities go much slower for me than they used to and I've decided that's not at all a bad thing.

First of all, walking. Today I took a three-mile plus hike up a canyon. Going up, I was passed many times by other people, including kids and a dachshund. I also had to stop often to catch my breath and allow my heartbeat to return to normal. Slogging along, I remembered the days of my youth in London when I walked faster than anyone around, and usually in high heels too. Well, being in training as a ballet dancer I was as fit as, if not fitter than, most athletes. But now, even when I think I'm walking fast, I'm actually not, as proved by those others passing me.

But you know what? It's better, I think, that I don't go charging through life any more. Those pauses going up the mountain and even the slower walking pace allow me to admire the view and be more aware of my surroundings.

My eating is much slower too. Again, I'm happy with that situation. What's the use of gobbling down food? Quite apart from being a bad idea health-wise, the actual savouring of what's on the plate adds to the experience and satisfaction.

And thirdly, I read books at a snail's pace. Sometimes I regret this, remembering the time when I could do one or two a day. Even the most exciting novel (and I read very few of those) will take me at least a week to get through. For non-fiction it's much longer than that. Here again, my experience is different because I take the time.

So yes, definitely, all of these slowing downs are good for me and the reason is simple. I notice more.

Holidays

So here we are, poised on the brink of the 'holiday season', on the eve of Thanksgiving and soon we'll be in Advent. And what happens in the U.S. on Friday? One of the biggest shopping days of the year.

Now, as already confessed, I like to shop from time to time. Recently my dear daughter-in-law and I went to a Christmas bazaar put on by a local German Club. Before we got there she warned me that she'd read it would be 'very well attended', and it was. We had a fun hour and bought some nice things to eat (and keep for later) as well as some small, hand-made wooden ornaments. As she remarked to me, "The Germans do Christmas well". I agreed, remembering one November when I visited Germany and bought such things as special tablecloths, small and medium-sized. The small ones went on the children's bedside table to mark the approach of Christmas.

Then she spoke about various other festive traditions, and how we're all richer for such experiences. But then she lamented the watering down of all of this in order to be politically correct. And she said something very telling. "If you take away all the deeper meaning of a festival, all you have left is shopping."

An eye for beauty

A couple of days ago I was wearing an amber pendant that belonged to my late mother. At the airport, a woman came up to me to comment on how beautiful it was. I agreed, and she told me a story about buying an amber necklace in Turkey for herself.

I thought about the incident afterwards, and about how my mother had a refined aesthetic sense. Now I love beauty but I can't say I always can pick out, say, a specially pleasing handbag. Yes, that's a trivial example perhaps, but I think it's a telling one. My mother could do that and I could generally rely on her advice when it came to clothing, home decorating and so on. She brought something special to these realms that was appreciated by others.

Where does such a talent come from? I think it's learned to some degree, but not entirely. My maternal grandmother might have passed it on, but then why was this unevenly taken up by her three daughters? To some extent a refine aesthetic sense must have something to do with the quality of observation. At least, that's the only theory I can come up with.

Remembrance Day

When I began to think about the eleventh hour of the eleventh month, more and more thoughts came flooding in, too many to include in this post. But I still want to mention a few.

First of all, my late brother, whose birthday was on this day. He died at the age of 45 from a kidney disease acquired when he was conscripted into the South African army and got dehydrated on a military exercise.

My father was 'up north' when I was born. That was the term used for South African soldiers who went to fight in the Second World War. He received a knee injury that worried him off and on for his whole, long life, but otherwise survived intact. How very grateful I am for that fact. He had incredible stories to tell and said his 'men' used to say he had a guardian angel.

My husband's father joined the cavalry and went into the First World War at the age of seventeen. Fortunately for him, this was soon to end and so he survived.

My husband had two wonderful great aunts who lived together. Both of them lost their loves, but soldiered bravely on.

So we remember, and take stock also of where we all stand today. As far as our and our earth's survival is concerned, are we now at the eleventh hour?

the quirks of grapes

Last week I bought a packet of muscat grapes, yellowish brown, and with pips. In South Africa we used to wait all summer for the most delicious grapes of the year, what we call Hanepoot, but actually the same variety. So that's the experience I was hoping to recapture. I have to confess I was a little disappointed in the taste, but thought the grapes would be good for breakfast.

News flash... grapes with seeds are not good to eat with granola. Now I appreciate the fact that we have seedless grapes.

When I was a child, I remember a friend of mine warning me not to eat grape pips. If I did, vines would start growing out of my ears. I was pretty sceptical about this, but what a picture!

And these days, it seems, we have quite a different view. Grape seed oil, so I believe, is good for you.

From Friday to Sunday

Have you noticed the change over these three days? It's been quite an amazing transition, I think.

We had that particular Halloween atmosphere of spookiness edged with a certain scary excitement. I find a kind of greyness hangs over that night. And then, All Souls Day yesterday and this morning All Saints Day. Quite a journey, more so than usual, I found. Maybe it's to do with the Friday, Saturday, Sunday progression.

I looked out early at the lightening sky, admiring the yellow-tinged dawn as it changed to cerulean blue, and saw, more to the west, a haze of lavender. And as I looked, a plane rose high drawing a line of white vertically into the heavens. Below it, a bird flapped, flying across from east towards the north. I think it was a crow.

So I hoped my thoughts would soar heavenward and that I wouldn't flap around too much but rather take the time to savour Sunday.