I missed my weekend moment to blog and now it's Thursday! For which, I'm actually grateful because these days I have some free hours on Thursday and Friday mornings. That means I can get caught up with things and hopefully do some writing.
I hate to think how often in life I've 'missed the moment'. Fortunately I find second chances usually appear. Again, though, they need to be seized. Hopefully, by the time they come around, some kind of wisdom has been gained and a recognition, 'yes, this is something I need to do'.
One thing I've been marveling over recently is that moment when you wake in the morning. Why and how does that happen? To me it's as if my angel taps me on the shoulder and says 'okay, you've been gone long enough.' And suddenly there I am, blinking in my bed.
And another thing... I was thinking how amazing it is that the plants grow. I mean, you plant seeds and bulbs and the next thing you know, there are the green shoots appearing above the earth. It's a miracle!
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Looking at the sky
As writers, we're supposed to be observant, right? My problem is I've always been focused more on the internal than on the external. Maybe that's the definition of being born a romanticist rather than a classicist?
Anyhow, I've had the good fortune to have a friend staying with me while my husband was away. She was continually directing my attention to the clouds, the sunsets, the five partial rainbows (!) we saw while out driving one Saturday. I think, during the summer, I do look at the sky more often than at any other time of the year. Now, in fall, it strikes me how different these clouds are, and how interesting. One evening we saw layer upon layer of striations, underlined by bright carmine as the sun set. Spectacular!
Years ago when we lived in Cape Town I used to take a short stroll along our lane just before twilight. I'd look up at the mountain, see the sky, and drink in all that beauty at that special, healing time of day. Although the weather's growing colder, I think I'm going to take up that practice again. True, I can't look at a mountain, but the sky is there for us all to behold and admire.
Anyhow, I've had the good fortune to have a friend staying with me while my husband was away. She was continually directing my attention to the clouds, the sunsets, the five partial rainbows (!) we saw while out driving one Saturday. I think, during the summer, I do look at the sky more often than at any other time of the year. Now, in fall, it strikes me how different these clouds are, and how interesting. One evening we saw layer upon layer of striations, underlined by bright carmine as the sun set. Spectacular!
Years ago when we lived in Cape Town I used to take a short stroll along our lane just before twilight. I'd look up at the mountain, see the sky, and drink in all that beauty at that special, healing time of day. Although the weather's growing colder, I think I'm going to take up that practice again. True, I can't look at a mountain, but the sky is there for us all to behold and admire.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Pumpkins
Harvest time. Fall is well under way and that feels really good. And somehow, that's kind of a miracle, considering I was really, really reluctant to leave the summer behind. I'm not sure at what point the transition occurred, but it certainly began with the sight of pumpkins lying copper-orange in the fields and appearing like colourful gateposts at the entrance to farm stalls.
Now many of the houses around us have pumpkins sitting on their front steps. I love to see that, especially as this is new to me since coming to North America. In South Africa we don't have this same variety. Pumpkins to us are mostly flat and white and are eaten as an extremely tasty vegetable, or in the form of fritters for dessert. Yum.
But now a funny thing has appeared. Large, round white pumpkins. Somehow they look so completely wrong to me that they cause a kind of internal wince. Now I don't know if that's simply prejudice, but I have to confess to being put off by all these new vegetable colours. I prefer my tomatoes red, my beans green and so forth. I suppose the real question is... does a different colour affect the taste? Last summer, being late with my seed purchases (as usual) I settled for purple beans because they were the only organic seed packets left. Actually, we didn't enjoy those beans and I won't plant them again.
Sometimes, like the transition between summer and fall, I grow accustomed and even learn to like things that at first appear strange and unappealing to me. So maybe that'll happen with white pumpkins. And I suppose, for Halloween, they're closer to the original turnip lights than the orange ones.
Now many of the houses around us have pumpkins sitting on their front steps. I love to see that, especially as this is new to me since coming to North America. In South Africa we don't have this same variety. Pumpkins to us are mostly flat and white and are eaten as an extremely tasty vegetable, or in the form of fritters for dessert. Yum.
But now a funny thing has appeared. Large, round white pumpkins. Somehow they look so completely wrong to me that they cause a kind of internal wince. Now I don't know if that's simply prejudice, but I have to confess to being put off by all these new vegetable colours. I prefer my tomatoes red, my beans green and so forth. I suppose the real question is... does a different colour affect the taste? Last summer, being late with my seed purchases (as usual) I settled for purple beans because they were the only organic seed packets left. Actually, we didn't enjoy those beans and I won't plant them again.
Sometimes, like the transition between summer and fall, I grow accustomed and even learn to like things that at first appear strange and unappealing to me. So maybe that'll happen with white pumpkins. And I suppose, for Halloween, they're closer to the original turnip lights than the orange ones.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Bi- and multi-lingualism (long post)
Language, as we all surely know, can both unite and divide. Growing up in South-Africa, we lived with a similar situation as we have in Canada today. That is, we were obliged to learn a second-language at school, and all labels and cereal packages etc. etc. carried both English and Afrikaans.
Worse, at that time Afrikaans was considered 'the language of the oppressor' and this meant we bore a kind of in-built resistance to it. In my young adult novel (under consideration right now by a publisher, so hold thumbs and stay tuned) set in the year leading up to Nelson Mandela's release, I dealt with this in what I hope is a sympathetic way, seeing as my heroine is herself a young Afrikaans girl.
In addition, I learned French both at school and during three years at university. At school in England, I'd boarded with French girls so had an easy understanding when I heard it spoken. This stood me in good stead when I got a job at the French Institute in London. I was the only one with English as my mother tongue, and believe me, I felt tongue-tied when it came to speaking French. After two months, however, this loosened and I was soon on my way to becoming completely fluent.
Then I decided I needed to learn some German. And I began to wonder... do these crash, total immersion courses work? Could I come into this language in, say, a week? My conclusions was... no. Although I did make a beginning. So I held the question, wondering, how long does it actually take to come into a relationship with a new language. I also asked around a bit. Eventually I came to the totally unscientific conclusion that it takes about five years to feel at ease.
Now for the bad news. Over the years I've lost my fluency in speaking French, although I still understand without much effort. The German too is fading. My conclusion here is that, like any other relationship, a connection with a language has to be on-going and tended. So I've taken to listening to French on the radio. I tell my husband "Three weeks in France would do it for me."
Ah well, we can dream, can't we?
Worse, at that time Afrikaans was considered 'the language of the oppressor' and this meant we bore a kind of in-built resistance to it. In my young adult novel (under consideration right now by a publisher, so hold thumbs and stay tuned) set in the year leading up to Nelson Mandela's release, I dealt with this in what I hope is a sympathetic way, seeing as my heroine is herself a young Afrikaans girl.
In addition, I learned French both at school and during three years at university. At school in England, I'd boarded with French girls so had an easy understanding when I heard it spoken. This stood me in good stead when I got a job at the French Institute in London. I was the only one with English as my mother tongue, and believe me, I felt tongue-tied when it came to speaking French. After two months, however, this loosened and I was soon on my way to becoming completely fluent.
Then I decided I needed to learn some German. And I began to wonder... do these crash, total immersion courses work? Could I come into this language in, say, a week? My conclusions was... no. Although I did make a beginning. So I held the question, wondering, how long does it actually take to come into a relationship with a new language. I also asked around a bit. Eventually I came to the totally unscientific conclusion that it takes about five years to feel at ease.
Now for the bad news. Over the years I've lost my fluency in speaking French, although I still understand without much effort. The German too is fading. My conclusion here is that, like any other relationship, a connection with a language has to be on-going and tended. So I've taken to listening to French on the radio. I tell my husband "Three weeks in France would do it for me."
Ah well, we can dream, can't we?
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