I suppose it was inevitable. The rest of the family had had flu for weeks, so down I went. My apologies. Sometimes the urge to put myself on screen is lacking. Instead, I've spent time resting and reading, and thinking back to childhood days when I'd have to stay in bed.
What came to mind is what I remember of being kept in bed. That was how it went, before the invention of anti-biotics, although sulfur drugs had brought me through illness soon after my younger brother was born. I must have been too young to read to myself, so, to keep me amused, my mother would bring out her costume jewelry. And she had a lot. I'd sit up with a pillow on my lap and spread out all the sparkly coloured beads... necklaces and earrings mostly. Rings? Mom only ever wore her wedding and engagement ring. Not that she and my dad were ever engaged. After a ten year courtship during which only my dad's brother approved of their relationship, they decided to elope. One day during the Second World War my father arrived at the family home and said to my maternal grandmother, "Come on, Mrs. Wright. Go and put your hat on. Dot and I are going off to be married!" And married they were, for over sixty years.
I must have been six or seven years old when my dad took me into Johannesburg with him one day. His purpose? To buy my mom a diamond ring. Mission accomplished, I remember asking him how much it cost. His prompt reply was: "Two and sixpence!" -- the equivalent of something like 25 cents today.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
A photo does it
This morning a dear friend in South Africa sent me a photo of her moonlight convolvulus creeper that she planted from seed. The white flowers (a little like morning glories) unfurl in the evening and perfume the air. Looking at the image, I was transported back many years to when I first saw one of these magical plants.
It was at my husband's aunt's house in Johannesburg. She'd trained as a florist at Moyses Stevens in London and had a most beautiful garden. Also, she did the flowers for our wedding, something I only truly appreciated after I'd done them for our daughter's marriage celebration. Sara was a diminutive, bird-like woman with a sweet nature and somewhat forbidding aspect. I grew to love her very much. But first, I had to get to know her. This happened in the early days of our courtship, when my husband-to-be was ill and spent weeks recuperating at the home. She always made me welcome.
One evening a few years later, we were invited to dinner. Sar said to me, "Come outside, I want to show you something special." We went out through the French windows, and skirted the house. I stood entranced as we watched the tight bud begin to move, twist, open, and finally reveal it's pure glory.
Johannesburg, I believe, is one of the most treed cities in the world. I'd say it also has some of the most beautiful gardens. During my growing up years I was truly blessed in being able to spend many hours outside, dreaming or reading in a garden.
It was at my husband's aunt's house in Johannesburg. She'd trained as a florist at Moyses Stevens in London and had a most beautiful garden. Also, she did the flowers for our wedding, something I only truly appreciated after I'd done them for our daughter's marriage celebration. Sara was a diminutive, bird-like woman with a sweet nature and somewhat forbidding aspect. I grew to love her very much. But first, I had to get to know her. This happened in the early days of our courtship, when my husband-to-be was ill and spent weeks recuperating at the home. She always made me welcome.
One evening a few years later, we were invited to dinner. Sar said to me, "Come outside, I want to show you something special." We went out through the French windows, and skirted the house. I stood entranced as we watched the tight bud begin to move, twist, open, and finally reveal it's pure glory.
Johannesburg, I believe, is one of the most treed cities in the world. I'd say it also has some of the most beautiful gardens. During my growing up years I was truly blessed in being able to spend many hours outside, dreaming or reading in a garden.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Balancing the books
My husband is busy doing some books for a friend.. the business kind, that is. At lunch he said, "I'm forty-five cents out on my balance" and just like that I could hear my mother lamenting 'I'm two pennies out. Can you believe it?'
Both my mother and her younger sister, who was actually like a second mother to me, were bookkeepers. As businesswomen, this stood them in good stead all their working lives, as well as being a large factor in the success of my father's salt business. He started this at the age of 42. At first my mom did his books and when she got tired of it, my aunt took over. How many evenings did I hear tales of one or both or them being 'out' a penny, a sixpence, three shillings or two and having to go through columns and columns of figures until they discovered the recalcitrant mistake.
From time to time I'd take the bus into Johannesburg and meet my mother at her office. She worked in an old building that housed an art gallery on the ground floor (much later in life I was to become friendly with the owner!). The lift was one of those iron cages that clanked up to the third floor. I'd step out and find Mom sitting on a high stool, the huge books on a sloping desk, open in front of her. I'd watch in amazement as she ran her pen down the neat columns of figures, adding up fast and, mostly, accurately.
This was also her place of employment during the second world war. I think she worked there for twenty years or so, and made lifelong friends of her fellow employees. The women kept the business going while the owner was 'up north', and my mother's skills grew as good as any accountant's. In spite of all, she remembered these as happy days, mostly because of the cheerful women of Italian extraction who worked alongside her. Good souls, good spirits, and I was blessed to know them.
Both my mother and her younger sister, who was actually like a second mother to me, were bookkeepers. As businesswomen, this stood them in good stead all their working lives, as well as being a large factor in the success of my father's salt business. He started this at the age of 42. At first my mom did his books and when she got tired of it, my aunt took over. How many evenings did I hear tales of one or both or them being 'out' a penny, a sixpence, three shillings or two and having to go through columns and columns of figures until they discovered the recalcitrant mistake.
From time to time I'd take the bus into Johannesburg and meet my mother at her office. She worked in an old building that housed an art gallery on the ground floor (much later in life I was to become friendly with the owner!). The lift was one of those iron cages that clanked up to the third floor. I'd step out and find Mom sitting on a high stool, the huge books on a sloping desk, open in front of her. I'd watch in amazement as she ran her pen down the neat columns of figures, adding up fast and, mostly, accurately.
This was also her place of employment during the second world war. I think she worked there for twenty years or so, and made lifelong friends of her fellow employees. The women kept the business going while the owner was 'up north', and my mother's skills grew as good as any accountant's. In spite of all, she remembered these as happy days, mostly because of the cheerful women of Italian extraction who worked alongside her. Good souls, good spirits, and I was blessed to know them.
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