A journey

So here we are on the first Sunday in Advent when we start this annual great and mysterious journey towards the light. A good time to set off on travels, wouldn't you say?

Yes, it's true.  I'm about to set off for a couple of weeks in South Africa to have what our elder daughter once told her kindergarten teacher was 'a short night off'. The nights will indeed be shorter, down there in the summer hemisphere as their summer solstice approaches. For me, I'll be visiting childhood, young adult and later adult haunts and reconnecting with family and some special friends. And doing some writing and taking a ton of photographs as well as some video.

But I've decided not to lug my laptop along with me.

After that it will likely be helter-skelter into Christmas for, so it's unlikely that I'll manage to post again before early January.

I wish you all a blessed Adventide.

Deja vu

Having typed my heading, I realize that, strictly speaking, I'm not going to talk about deja vu, which, in my understanding, means you come across a place or a person or a situation and get the weird sensation that you've seen it all before. When you haven't.

It's happened to me only once in my life, with a person, who had the same experience with me. We spent time comparing notes to see if we'd ever before been in the same place at the same time and no, we hadn't.

However, tonight it's more the 'seen it all before' thingy that I mean. What brought this to mind was a couple of things.

First of all, I got my hair cut. My hairdresser told me the styles were all going back to 70s and 80s look. Fine. As long as I never have to do a beehive again I'm cool with it.

And then Twitter. Did you know I'm on Twitter? Well I am @brenhammond. A Twitter writing pal posted that for her Christmas begins when she hears the Chipmunks. Hah! Weird how they've put in a reappearance, isn't it? (how would you turn that from the visual to the audial? I have no clue).

Since reading her tweet, all I can hear in my head is 'Me, I want a hula hoop!'

Although I'm not sure that I do. Once around after all that hoop circling is probably enough for me. But it was fun at the time and good for the waist line I'll bet.

If you're still with me, thanks, and that's it for silly Saturday!

Geese

In South Africa, where I've spent many years of my life, Canadian geese hardly exist. You're more likely to come across a pair of Egyptian geese, actually, and most probably on the ground rather than in the air. So my present experience of seeing those skeins layered in the sky, hearing the honking, is something that's special to my life here in North America.

How many of them will actually fly south? And when will they go? Maybe a good many have already come down from farther north.

Somehow, I still marvel at the geese, particularly at the numbers. But right now I feel a particular kind of affinity because I'm about to pack my bags and head down to the southern hemisphere for almost three weeks. I'll try and do some blogging, but it could be sporadic seeing as I've decided not to take any electronic device with me.

Meanwhile, I've got a couple of days in hand, so I'll catch you again before I leave.

First snowfall

During the night on Tuesday, I was conscious of a change of light. So it wasn't such a big surprise to wake up yesterday morning and find our world transformed to white. Snow was still falling gently, the kind that's easy to pack and makes wonderful snowballs and snowmen. In fact, I saw a great one of the latter this morning and resolved for the twentieth time to go with that old slogan and 'carry a camera'. Trouble is my purse is already pretty heavy.

Later in the day I looked out my window to see our neighbour's boys getting into a snowball fight. That made me smile. And later still, I drove out into darkened streets. Maybe it was also because it was the dark of the moon night, but it seemed to me the whole city was hunkered down, musing somehow on the special season to come. Of course, already we have Christmas lights up and Christmas music on the radio. I remind myself that that's okay. As long as I remember it's Advent we'll be going into this Sunday and that the holidays will extend over the Thirteen Holy Nights, I feel good about it all. I'll go forward in a mood of quiet anticipation.

Dyeing

I'm definitely getting old. Why do I know this? Because last night I disapproved of the younger generation.

This is how it happened:

A dear friend with her lovely daughter came to stay over night. And when I say lovely, this young woman is quite beautiful. Apart from her clear, glowing skin,  and sparky dark eyes, I've always admired her shiny chestnut locks with just their hint of curl as they lie on her shoulders. But now, that's changed. The colour is dyed darker and the hair is straightened.

Yes, she looks 'up to the minute' but why? Couldn't she have left well alone? I guess not.

Now, in general I have nothing against people dyeing their hair, although I usually don't like it if the crowning glory is darker, and especially not if it's artificially black. Blond and streaks often look great and every February, when I start feeling grey from head to foot, I consider taking the plunge. But I'm basically too lazy and frugal to do it.

Right. Got that off my chest!

The thrill of a new skill

Well, 'skill' may be pushing it folks, but nevertheless... It's a delight to realize you can do something unexpected and unexpectedly well. At least, that's the feedback I got from my writing partner.

This is something I've discovered recently when I've been 'designing' websites. I doubt the end result would have been much good without my Mac and iWeb because they really do 'get' design, and the templates have been a huge help. They're very flexible too.

The thing was, I needed to get a website up for my forthcoming novel 'Cape Town', but had no spare funds to pay the calibre of web designer I'd want. So 'do it yourself' it had to be. At first I struggled, but step by step I got into it and realized... I was thoroughly enjoying myself!

How about that! At my age! The world is truly a wonderful place to be in.

And if you'd care to take a look, here's the url: http://www.brendahammond.ca

Autumn's procession almost over

'Trust the process'! This is a maxim I hear often as applied to creativity, inspiration, imagination, listening to your subconscious or, as I prefer to think of it, my superconscious.

Over the last weeks I've been revelling in the process of autumn. Maybe this has to do with the fact that the fall has been so extended, which meant I had time to sink into appreciation of the 'off' colours. No primaries around, except for the pale cobalt of the sky. So I've been drinking in the greys, browns, muted greens of lawns and conifers, the straw of.. well, straw, and cornstalks serried through the fields.

And then I remember that extreme reluctance I felt at having to say 'goodbye' to summer. Why? I should have been grateful for and accepting of the change... just as I now should start looking towards the colder, bleaker days of winter.

Maybe that's stretching it a bit!

I still don't get it!

We live adjacent to an adult lifestyle community, as they're called.

So yesterday, I'm heading out to a writing memoir workshop some miles away and I stop at the end of our road. Ahead of me, one of those 'adult's' is backing out of his driveway, and I turn in front of him (i.e. he's not yet out on the street). Lo and behold, before long he's zooming past. Not sure if he's feeling competitive because of the suped-up Golf I drive, courtesy of our son, but in the end I think, "Oh well, if he's in such a hurry..."

I follow him along only to realize where he's so desperate to get to. Can you guess? Yes, folks, our nearest Tim Hortons.

Sorry, but I still don't get it. Just 15 mins before, my husband and I had enjoyed a hard-to-beat latte in the warmth and comfort of our own home. No jumping into the car and racing off, no idling in the drive-thru lane, no sipping through a hole in the cheap plastic lid, only to burn your tongue on the way back.

I suppose it's a culture thing. Must be true, that old saying about taking the girl out of the country, but not being able to take the country out of the girl. When it comes to coffee drinking, give me the European way!

Roundabout and rambling, but I'll get to the point sometime. Promise!

The family want us to move closer to them, and I went to look at a handyman special. The windows were a put off for me, but I did see a solution to the bathroom problem. One tiny one ensuite, with a loo and basin.. and a window. The 'family' bathroom, also tiny, without a window. So I remembered a designer solution: open it up to one big bathroom, but with two doors. One from the passage and one from the main bedroom. (why should it be 'master'???)

Recently we stayed in a home with this. I asked my husband, "Did you notice?" Answer: "No, I was too distracted by that unfriendly thing on the floor."

"What thing?"

"The bathroom scale!!"

LOL. Actually, for me it wasn't so unfriendly, because I've almost almost lost the 5 lbs. I was aiming for. Husband says, "I'm always amazed at your discipline."

Yes, I'm disciplined, although right now I'm kind of paying a price for it. I'd say my self-discipline largely comes through my ballet training, and the price is the hip replacement I'm heading for. In the grand scheme of things I'd say... worth it!

I know with 'slimming' as we used to call it at ballet school, a lot depends on my finding the right moment. The right head space, as it were. Or body space. In general I get a sense when I need to do this or that. But it doesn't always work. Sometimes I can wait around for the right moment, but kind of sink into sloth. Yeah, I know. A deadly sin, that.

Bike riding

Having just got back from a blustery ride, I can tell you that I really enjoy my bike. Probably I've shared this with you a time or two already ('what, again?' you shout). The thing is I love the pace. And no, I don't do the racing thing with sleek lycra covered legs to match. I'm always inclined to slip into the zone while walking or biking, so take things fairly leisurely. The difference between the two is, I think, the sense of empowerment I get while riding my 'camel'.

This term originated back in the early 'Sixties after a trip to the Pyramids, a ride on a camel, and a subsequent two week spring bicycle tour of Holland. My friend and I started off in Rotterdam, having taken the train and a ferry from London. So we rode around the city a bit. Shall I say... cobbled streets? Do you need any more explanation?

I doubt it.

Anyhow, it was a trip that stayed vividly in my memory, long after other continental excursions had faded to the back of my mind. I think it was the connection with nature, seeing the fields, smelling the silage (phew!), battling wind and rain on a couple of inclement weather days. Plus we enjoyed the youth hostel breakfasts of bread and cheese and chocolate spread!

The eleventh of the eleventh

I like how people around the world are taking the opportunity today to pray for peace and meditate on how things (and us!) need to change. Just before the news this morning I heard a Bob Marley song about not needing no more trouble. And I wondered... is this true? Have we really and finally had enough trouble to realize we're sliding down a slippery slope? And, more important, to find the will to do something about it?

There has to be hope if we can stop and think and re-evaluate. Which is what I'll be doing in my own small way. i.e. think about the direction my life, my work, my thoughts are going. And, hopefully, fix some things that are going wrong.

Speaking of thoughts, on this remembrance day I'm always there, at the Cenotaph in Whitehall, London. It made such an impression on me when I first saw it at the age of fourteen, the wide street, the austere light grey monument.

But also I think about my late younger brother, who's birthday it was.

And, on a lighter note, I was amused by the columnist who called today 'corduroy' day because 11 11 11 looks like the ridges on corduroy fabric. Yes, I'll be wearing my cords today. How about you?

Owning our actions

For a few days I've been mulling over a certain situation, not realizing why it bugged me so. Let me tell you what happened.

Once a year, I have to have a blood test. So off I went to the clinic, or whatever it's called (senior moment there!). It's never a particularly pleasant atmosphere to walk into, but last week it was worse than usual.

While I was waiting, a nurse emerged from the imaging section and called my name. No-one responded immediately, so I started to get to my feet. As I did so, and (more) elderly woman sitting close by looked startled and began to move. Realizing we had to share the same surname I told her 'it had to be you' because I wasn't going there.

Forgive the digression...

Not long after, my full name i.e. not just Mrs X, was called, and in I went, quite happily. The thing is, I'm not squeamish about having a blood test, unlike my poor husband who gets dizzy and almost faints. I wasn't welcomed, but simply told where to sit. Nothing else. The needle went in, feeling as if it might have been a tad blunt. Okay. I know the practitioners vary very much. Some are so skillful you feel the veriest prick, and others not.

Obediently, I held the knob of cotton over the small puncture until she taped it. Then she said, "Don't lift anything with that arm because it'll cause bruising."

Hmm. Interesting. I didn't lift anything in particular but, dear readers, I have a patch of very yellow, green and blue skin on the inside of my elbow.

You are free to draw your own conclusion!

The Chevrolet anniversary

I hear it's a big day for Chevs, and they're claiming they're the most bought brand evah.

Well, we had one once, waaaaaay back in the day when I was at university. It was beige and long and probably had tail wings, I'm not sure. What I do remember was the ride. My dad slept in the front seat next to me as I drove along the endless stretches of road that led through the Karoo semi-desert on our journey between Johannesburg and Cape Town. My mom sat in the back, quiet and content as was her wont. Then my dad woke up.

"Bren! You're doing eighty miles and hour!!"

So I was. Which was probably dangerous, seeing as I hadn't been driving all that long. In SA license only possible to get once you'd turned 18 (i.e. not 16). So I slowed down, but hey, I'd been flying along quite happily and that Chev gave a floating kind of ride we always compared to being in a plane.

My dad was an autophile. That was great for all the family because we inherited his cast offs whenever he got enthused to buy a new model. Over the years I've driven many different brands and only now have settled into (mostly) VWs.

One day when I was a child, a widowed friend of my parents came to visit. She was 'Rhodesian' and drove a van which she called by an affectionate name. It escapes me now, but made a big impression at the time. I don't think we ever really did this, but there's no doubt in my mind that different cars and especially different brands have different 'personalities' and demand different driving styles. (Got that?)

A Fiat we once owned seemed determined to speed. A large Alpha Romeo was somehow gracious and polite. The Mini we drove in London seemed to cower at the onslaught of black taxis and red busses, but soldiered valiantly on. Then there were the Lancias, the Citroens, the Mercs, the BMW (only one), the reliable but boring Toyota, the Peugeots, the Jeep...

In the end, what makes for a safe and yet pleasurable ride may be a bit like the whole Apple mystique. i.e. to do with the designer, the engineering and the attention to detail.

Halloween

Happy Halloween everyone.

And, more especially, happy birthday to my oldest, dearest friend and my godson. That's because the birthday means more to me than Halloween, which, I have to confess, I resist.

Seeing those increasingly kitschy and frightful decorations going up around our neighbourhood, starting around the middle of October if not before, gives me shivers of horror. I throw up my hands and reject it all. But then, as I remembered this morning, something different happens when the actual Eve of All Hallows arrives. Out on the streets in the dark, with little people scurrying around carrying black plastic lootbags and dressed in weird and wonderful costumes, there's a special and magical atmosphere that permeates the air. It's a kind of excitement, maybe a little hysterical, but fun all the same.

Tonight I won't be in disguise. But I might put on my black jeans and an orange T-shirt just to show I'm a little in the spirit of things.

So, I repeat, Happy Halloween.

Words words words

You probably know that I'm fascinated by words and how they're used, especially in regard to current norms. Recently the two that have caught my attention are 'remit' and 'purview'. Not words I ever even heard up till a few years ago. Now they're common.

As a writer of contemporary (mostly) fiction (mostly), I need to keep my word usage up to date. And that's becoming increasingly difficult for me, mostly I suppose because I seldom watch TV or movies. So I rely on what pops onto my screen via blogs and facebook to kind of keep me in the loop.

I remember my very first writers group back in the day (another new thing we say!). There was a woman about the age I am now who wrote good stories but... they came across as old-fashioned and from another era. It's a subtle thing, really, and somewhat scary for me. On the other hand, recently we've been reading 'Swallows and Amazons' to our grandson and that (mostly) comes across fine. I suppose this has to do with the imagination the book creates.

Complicating matters is the fact that the UK and the North America diverge on current speak. Which changes all the time. Right now I'm thinking of how we used to say 'It's up to you' whereas now people say 'It's down to you'. Personally, I think 'up' is more encouraging than 'down'. Don't you?

A missed opportunity

This morning I heard a radio review of the movie 'City of Life and Death' which will soon be showing locally. It reminded me of an afternoon long ago in Cape Town when I sat in our chiropractor's waiting room. (fyi, it's years since I went for this type of treatment).

There was an older woman there, and we started chatting. Soon she was sharing a life story with me, one I've always regretted not writing down afterward because it was so striking. The gist of it was that she was in Nanking when the city was attacked by the Japanese in 1939. It was the first time I ever heard of this historic invasion. She was on the sidewalk when a bomb hit, killing all the people in her vicinity except for her and a baby girl. They were both unharmed.

Her immediate reaction was one of wonder and question. Why had she been spared? It struck her that it was so she could care for the child. Which she did. Somehow or other she managed to escape, taking the baby with her... but how she did is the part I don't rememberl.

Her remarkable story has stayed with me over the years as one of destiny. What a pity I didn't write down the details at the time.

Leaves

They're what's fluttering by for me today. We're fortunate enough to have many trees, avenues of them, in our newish neighbourhood. So as I sit here in my second-floor study I'm still looking out at maples, mottled with yellow and orange and green. The locusts have shed their splendour and now stand bare, but for a few skeleton leaves, mostly right at the top.

Riding around my 'hood, I'm doing my best to observe each tree. And as I go, what I notice is that each street has a slightly different atmosphere. Right now tho, my attention is being drawn also to the increasingly-elaborate Halloween decorations, which seem to be getting mixed up with the harvest festival theme. I suppose that's okay, seeing as the original Halloween lanterns were large turnips!

So I'm riding past a largish garden, which has a row of skulls grinning from atop 18 inch sticks. But there are also patches where those same sticks sport silver aluminium foil flags. What a puzzlement... I mean, silver is connected to the moon, yes, but what did this signify? It took me a moment, but at last I realized.... these were simply to mark where new grass seed had been planted!!

How do you feel about Liszt?

Let's give a nod to Franz Liszt, on this, the 200th anniversary of his birth.

Now, I have to confess I'm warmish about him. My present perception is somewhat tainted by the last time I heard him performed by a solo pianist. This came across to me as all flash and thunder and sparklers, but in the end, fairly empty.

Thinking about this experience, I realized what's working in here. That is, my own writing. I'd say that I can do some clever things, but often can't reach or plumb the depths that I would like. Too much of the fluttering by, I suppose, and not enough quiet time in the chrysalis, or even further back, not enough time crawling along the ground and eating leaves!!

But that visiting pianist that I heard on a long-ago visit to my mother in South Africa, brought me a special karmic meeting. I was swimming in the lagoon late one afternoon when I was joined by an elderly couple. Considerably older than me, that was! We got chatting, and the woman told me they wouldn't linger because they were going up to town for a recital that evening.

So was I.

Turned out we had friends and other interests in common. I was invited for afternoon tea. That day, Daphne Wilson gave me a copy of a book she'd written that was pertinent to the research I needed for my spring 2012 novel, 'Cape Town'.

The world is truly a wonderful place.

Fwd. Fwd. Fwd. Perception and... Deception

Well, I received one of the above this morning. It was all about the time Joshua Bell played his violin incognito in the New York subway, and how nobody recognized him, hardly anyone gave him any money or stopped to listen, and how the children stopped but their parents all tugged them away etc etc and so fifth (to borrow from that other famous musician, Victor Borge). So the message was about perception.

Okay. I buy into that. We don't expect to see or hear a famous violinist playing in the New York subway. However, the story wasn't quite accurate. As I believe I remember hearing soon after this incident, there were two people who recognized him and stopped to listen for as long as he played. One of them had seen and heard him recently on stage.

So I was thinking and making a mental note to myself. The web is wonderful for all sorts of things, not least information. However, it's good to be aware that it can also be a medium for the spreading of quarter and half truths, deception and even outright lies. I'll try to keep reminding myself of that, and nevertheless to try not to be prejudiced in my perceptions.

Setting a Trend

For me, exercise has to be fun. Although I was never much of a walker when I was younger, over the years I got into it and enjoyed the pace and the chance to observe as I perambulated along. My husband would urge me to walk faster, lengthen my stride, but I soon found that interfered with my will to walk. So I took it at my own pace and, over the years, naturally got a bit quicker and walked farther.

But now that I'm waiting for a hip replacement (yes, folks by the time it actually happens I'll have waited over a year!!!) I can't walk more than a few yards without a struggle. However, I can ride a bike. Isn't that wonderful? I suppose it's because my legs don't bear the weight and the movement is forward and back rather than veering to one side or the other, which is not good for me.

So I can get out and enjoy being under God's heaven, look at the sky, clouds and the changing trees, appreciate the way so many households in our neighbourhood have mounds of colourful chrysanthemums in their outdoor pots. I'm very grateful for this.

But I've also noticed that since I've been riding around, gradually more and more of us oldies are hitting the streets with recreational rather than 'serious' bicycles. And why not? It's not necessary to have all the gear, although I do wear a helmet. That was on the advice of my daughter-in-law and I thought, 'well, you never know'. Even though I take to the backstreets at the quietest times of the day, it's still good to be cautious about road safety.

So, having written that, it's time for me to get out there. I just hope the wind is not too strong.

Paul McCartney marries again

You know, I think that's wonderfully affirming. Hopefully, one of these days my novel with this theme of why get married will see the light of day.

And I loved reading that he sang 'Let It Be' to his Nancy. Again, this song has something affirming about it, and comforting too. In fact, I'd say it's the one I sing most often. The later songs are not so familiar to me, as the Beatles were banned in South Africa, having been labelled as blasphemous.

What do you think about that?

In those Beatle days of mine in London, people used to ask 'Who's your favourite?' I confess mine was always Paul. Not that I didn't admire John and the others to some extent. Even though we frequented the same neighbourhood, I never saw any of them. But the wedding in Marylebone where we used to live brought back many happy memories. Yes, in the autumn of my life, I'm grateful for all the richness and variedness of my experiences.

Autumn and Vivaldi

Truth to tell, I'd never heard or connected much with Vivaldi until we came to North America. That was around this time of year. Because my husband was on business, we stayed at classy hotels where 'Autumn' was piped into all the foyers and public areas.

So now, yes, I find Vivaldi's music playing in my head each fall, enhancing my experience of glowing colours. And it's invariably on the radio. So we identify. But I was wondering what autumn was like in Italy for Vivaldi. Each country and continent, each state and province has it's own atmosphere, so it wouldn't be at all the same as here. I've been in Venice in winter, in Florence and Tuscany and Rome in summer (the latter, not such a good idea!)

But truly, for the epitome of an autumn experience, I'd say nothing can surpass where I am right here and now.

Steve Jobs + 56

When I open Safari, I'm on the www.Apple page because I haven't changed that to anything else. So I'm looking at the photo of Steve Jobs. More, I'm connecting with his direct, penetrating gaze.

Biographies fascinate me. In particular, I'm always on the look out for significant happenings that have to do with our seven-year life periods. What's striking here is that Steve Jobs died at the end of the 47 to 56 period, a time that for very many people is the most productive of their lives.

On a personal note, these were the years when I was mostly free of mothering obligations and had time to myself. I'm grateful that the grandchildren waited a while before putting in their appearance, because this gave me the chance to take up writing in a serious way. Creative writing, for me at any rate, demands peace and quiet, although I'm allowed to interrupt myself!

And just as the man said, I've slowly been seduced into the techy world of computers. Mine have always been Macs, and I'm grateful for the fact that entering this world was less painful because of this. Plus, I'm a firm believer and upholder of the importance and life-enhancing ability of good design.

And on another note, when I typed that +, a question rose. Do Buddhists also die in Christ? I imagine that they do.

Being frugal (in a small way)

My husband and I have this low-grade, on-going joke. e.g.
'Why are you doing that?'
'Because it's economical.'

Always a good excuse for whatever I'm up to!

Anyhow, this is why I've cut my slim plastic tube of eye cream into three short lengths. I mean, have you any idea how much stuff is left in those plastic tubes after you've squeezed your fingers up to the nozzle till they ache? I can tell you I've gotten an extra two-weeks worth out of my eye cream. That's quite a considerable amount.

Luckily I don't have this problem with toothpaste, as we always use the Weleda brand which goes the old-fashioned (and healthier!) way. And maybe I'll think twice in future about buying anything that's packaged in a plastic tube.

More on the outage (not strong enough to be outrage!)

Thinking about our power cut, I realized what a privilege it is to have a copious supply of hot water. A bath, a shower... we can luxuriate whenever we want.

Coming from Africa, water is a resource I'm always aware of and this year, when we had two summer months with a garden watering ban, reminded me of when we moved into our newly built home in Constantia, Cape Town. This was on an old vineyard and that spring we planted a rose garden of maybe thirty bushes (yes, we had enough land for that!). Then came the summer watering ban. Luckily, we were allowed to use buckets. So each bush needed a bucket a week to survive. I can tell you my arms grew pretty strong. All that trekking back and forth from a single tap on the side of the hill... but those roses were worth it.

The second thing the outage brought to mind was the lack of toast. I actually don't eat bread for breakfast, but my husband does. Still, I remembered my years of living in residence at the University of Cape Town. The food was really good in those days before outsourcing brought a decline in quality. The one thing we didn't get was toast. When I went home for the vacations toast was my delight and felt like such a treat.

Yes, it's often the little things...

My habit got me

My usual habit of a morning, after I've woken up, done my meditations and drunk a cup of tea, is to turn on my lap top and check my emails. Partly this has to do with the fact that England is five hours ahead of my time, and South Africa six or seven, depending on summer time (6) or winter time (7). So I'm interested to connect with friends and family.

But this morning we had a two hour power outage. To my dismay it took me a good half hour to get my head around that and accept that we were cut off from any outside communication. This was also due to the fact that our ancient cell phone's battery is failing and only keeps a charge for a little while. i.e. it was dead.

Yes, we have a gas stove, but otherwise our household relies heavily on electricity. And that dependence is kind of scary.

As to the outside communication, I've decided we need to find out if we can buy a land line phone that doesn't need to be plugged into an electrical outlet. During the sweeping eastern North American outage of 2008, this was the only way I could be contacted with the news that my dad had died. How very grateful I was for that old-style phone.

So now I've decided to break this habit of early email checking. This will be my soul-strengthening exercise for the month of October.  I'll leave the moment of switching on till after breakfast and see how long it takes me to be cool with that.

Slowing down, waking up

It's true that some people (i.e. me) slow down as they grow older. I specially notice this in the mornings when it takes me longer to get up and dressed. But I'm not sure this only has to do with physical action.

What I find is that I'm constantly enlarging my mind, my thoughts, my heart. The latter has to do with children marrying and producing off-spring, my husband and I making new friends, and for me, entering into writers' communities, and just generally meeting people. As to my mind, I find I spend more time musing and thinking things over than I ever did before.... It's like an expansion of consciousness, if you will. So maybe if I'm putting so much energy into the more interior matters of being, it doesn't really matter if I'm physically slower than I used to be. Would you say?

Oops, I wuz wrong.

Apparently, the equinox only happened yesterday, not on the 21st. A friend who's more up on astronomy than I am put me right. But I have to confess, astronomy is not one of my strong suits. Neither is ornithology, for that matter.

With both of these, I struggle to learn and understand. I'm better with birds these days, maybe because there's not so much of a variety where we live, but generally I have a hard time remembering their names. So I make an effort, but soon, like whatever I've learned in between about movements of the planets and so on, I forget again. Which is frustrating.

But I suppose our souls have their own inclinations as to what we grasp easily and what's more difficult. Who know whence these come? Only someone with a profound knowledge and insight into karma, I imagine. And that's not really me. Not yet, anyhow. :-)

And green, and golden

Beautiful words from Dylan Thomas, I believe. They so sum up my experience right now. Yes, I've managed to sing the 'Summer goodbye' song, my body is adjusting to cooler temperatures, and I'm enjoying the early fall. Our neighbour's maple tree is already sporting its colours, while the green is just beginning to retreat in ours.

Yesterday I heard something interesting on the radio. This was, that the yellows and browns are already there in the leaves, but we can't see them because of the green. Once the chlorophyll process retreats, they are revealed. However, it's different with the reds because they are connected to the sugar process.

Truly, there is much to wonder at in this world of ours.

Autumn Equinox

Now I suppose at the equinox we should feel nicely balanced. Can't say I'm quite in that sort of a space. In fact, earlier this morning I was telling myself 'Buck up, Brenda'.

So updating the blog is a start on that process. I hope!

What interests me broadly about the equinoxes and solstices is how our Christian festivals come soon after. Of course, this doesn't strictly apply to Easter, as it's a moveable feast. But St. Johns takes place three days after the summer solstice and Christmas three days after the winter. Michaelmas, on the 29th September, is eight days after the 21st. Why? My only thought was that maybe we need to experience a full week in between in order to access the Michael time of the year.  

In days of yore when I was at primary school, this term was called the Michaelmas term. Generally these days you don't hear much talk of archangels. Angels are much more au courant, and there's plenty to read and glean about them. Are we losing the higher hierarchy from our consciousness?

Autumn brings us some help in trying to connect with the archangel Michael, I think. All those fiery colours and the zing in the air banish the dreamy greens of summer and help us take up our swords to fight the good fight. I hope!

Indulgence

In the winter of my life I long
for eternal summer
and resist
the necessity of business.
-Do webwork for Gill.
-Write a cheque for Phil...
So goes my list
And yet
I'd rather wipe the windowsills
Indulge in fictive imagination
Hang the laundry out to dry
While autumn's sun still holds
It's warming glow.

Wouldn't you?

This and that

This morning I put my T-shirt on back to front and I thought 'I wonder what my mom would have said about that?' If you put a garment on inside out, she'd say you'd be getting a letter. Well, I guess these days most of us get plenty of letters via email but very few actually in the post. Another thing which I think I've mentioned before... if you cut your nails before noon on Monday, you'd get a present. Hmm. Did so last week. I'm still waiting.

One of my emails this morning had the subject line: So long, summer. Can't avoid that truth, but it struck me a while ago that this is a strange way of saying 'good-bye'. I mean, so long what? Till I see you again? You've already had all you're going to get this time around? And yet the sounds and casual way we use this doesn't convey negativity to me. It feels more positive. I guess I can live with  'okay, till the next time'.

Making space for inspiration

Although I'm fiddling around with a couple of stories, the truth is that I'm between manuscripts at the moment. So I'm taking the opportunity to do a bit of a more in-depth cleaning around the house. This feels good because I take the view of my fellow countrywoman Linda Thomas and consider this not so much as getting rid of dirt, but as making space for the spirit.

And there's another aspect. I know it makes a difference to the quality of my sleep if I've been involved in some sort of meaningful activity during the day. And no, that doesn't include staring at my computer screen, although the typing can't be entirely dismissed.

Talking of activity, I've really gotten into the bike riding. Leisurely, that is. I like to take a turn around the 'hood mid-morning and early evening. I've found 5.30 is a good time because traffic is light and most people and their children are busy with the evening meal. So is my husband, for that matter, and this little sortie comes courtesy of his willingness to cook!

So now it's a little after ten a.m and I'll say ciao because I'm off for that ride. Catch u soon again.

Numbers

Well, it's almost  September, and thoughts for the blog have been fluttering into my mind. So I'm back!

Right now I'm trying to refresh my fluency in French just in case perchance by good luck some author interviews come my way. Mostly, I'm practising those pesky numbers, in particular 1993 in case someone broaches that FAQ: what year did you come to North America? In order to answer this in French, I have to say ten, nine, four (x) twenty, thirteen. Complicated, hey? What I'm thinking is that the Academie Francaise should invent new words for seventy, eighty and ninety. That would make the numbers so much easier. Not to mention shortening the typing and saving the breath.

Apart from the complication, why is this such a stumbling block for me? From what I understand, people generally and naturally do mental arithmetical calculations in their mother tongue. This is something that's retained even when they're far away from their original roots.

Meantime, if you catch me muttering, you'll know it's not serious. I'm simply happily slipping into my francais.

Hiatus again

My apologies. Summer daze: ongoing. I hope to be back next month, so see you in September.

Towels

Yes folks, it's still silly season, so the post today is as advertised above. Or maybe not entirely, as it's all to do with size, yanno.

Along with buying the water pic at Target (otherwise known as Tarjay), I treated my husband and me to a new pair of bathsheets. Yes, they're huge. My mother would totally have approved. She was particular about her towels, and often gave a set as an engagement present to young couples. This was because, in South Africa, we didn't do showers as you do in North America.

Anyhow, those fluffy new towels are still stored in the linen closet. I simply haven't felt the need to be enveloped as I emerge from the bath or shower. And I'm wondering if this is a summer thing... i.e. I'm happy with a smaller towel.

Different countries seem to do size differently. (Is it cultural?) I remember the first time I visited a dear friend in Germany, how surprised I was when she gave me a towel that I  considered hardly bigger than a hand towel. And her basement shower room was cold. In North America the standard in homes and hotels still feels small to me. But maybe I'm getting acclimatized (see 2nd paragraph).

And another thing, those hand towels? Can't wrap them around my wet head to make a secure turban. So when I visit South Africa, I always buy one of their slightly-bigger versions to bring back home with me. But I'm still looking for a size I've found very useful for travelling and carrying in my hand luggage, a size that seems to have disappeared. It's between a facecloth and a handtowel. The one my mom gave me is sadly threadbare.

A pause that (hopefully) refreshes

I'm deep in edits for my upcoming spring release 'Cape Town', and so my thoughts are focused rather than fluttering by!

Plus there's music happening and social time.

All to say, I'll see you in a few. Probably days rather than weeks!

The water rush

My sons and daughters-in-law get this from kiteboarding. Me, I get it from my water pic.

I bought one recently at the suggestion of my dental hygienist (yes, I'd asked). It took some getting used to, I can tell you. At first I felt as if I were giving the whole bathroom sink and vanity a shower, not to mention the mirror behind which needed wiping every time. But now I'm loving the fresh feeling the it brings. I don't think I've had so much rushing water in my mouth since the time I tried water-skiing.

That was far away and long ago. In the Knysna lagoon, actually, while I was still at university. Despite leg muscles made strong through ballet, I never actually managed to get up on the skis. Now, the lagoon is tidal, but I'm sure the level went down because I swallowed so much water. Ah well, I was never the sporty type.

Although, talking of the lagoon, I've done quite a bit of sailing on it. The surroundings are surely some of the most beautiful in the world, but the lagoon has shifting sands and channels. And so I once had the opportunity to push a small yacht over many a sandbank. Maybe I should rather have persevered with the waterskiing in order to be on top of the water instead of trudging through it!

Getting rid of garbage

Friday mornings is garbage collection in our neighbourhood. My husband gets up early and wheels the bin to the road, then takes out the recycling after seeing whether it's paper or glass, plastic and cans. That's okay for distribution of chores, I reckon, seeing as I clean the toilets.

This morning I was kind of marvelling how good it feels to get the garbage out of the house and disposed of. It's like a small burden lifts. Clearing out stuff works too on a grander scale but takes more effort. Plus, you have to deal with it yourself rather than leaving it to those sneezing-brake trucks.

Today however, I'm going to do some clearing out of the garbage on my computer. I've just sent off a requested submission to an editor (hold big thumbs, folks!) and now I can drag those unnecessary old files into the trash. Then the folder won't be quite so crowded. Hopefully this will also bring good energy.

Writing black and blue

Here's a confession. I still prefer to do my creative writing (not the blogging!) using pen and paper. Other writers like the speed of instant composition on the computer. Me, I like the space between. i.e. The thought appears, and some words to convey it (hopefully!), but that small pause between brain and hand somehow provides me with the opportunity for serendipity, for the words to rearrange themselves, perhaps, or for some unheard music/rhythm to happen.

But there's another aspect I've wondered about recently. Does it make a difference if I use a blue pen rather than a black? My husband definitely prefers the blue. In fact, I used to like writing with a pencil best of all because there's more traction on the paper. Then I found the graphite was more difficult to read over after a lapse of time and switched to what we used to call ball pen. Of course, years ago, after reading Nathalie Goldberg's 'Writing Down the Bones' I went out and bought the fountain pen she recommended. Did that make a beneficial difference? I don't think so. It was more nuisance than anything else.

So now, I suppose a blue pen brings something gentler, more ruminative perhaps, than the black. Anyhow, I'm going to give it a try.

Applause

After years of missing the opportunity, last week we finally got to see the stage version of the Lion King.
A friend told me it was worth seeing, if only for the opening sequence. In a way he was right, although I enjoyed the spectacle and the dancing and so on. But for me it was the African elements that really held me in thrall.

Ah Africa, how potent is your spell! In the days when I was at school in England, I used to fly home at the end of June to spend a couple of months in Johannesburg in winter. Or should I have written 'hop' rather than 'fly'? The plane would land in Paris, Rome or Athens, Cairo, Khartoum, Nairobi (somewhere further south like Entebbe maybe?) Salisbury (now Harare) and finally, home. At each stop, we'd exit and spend an hour or so in the airport building. The amazing thing was, the moment the door of the plane opened and I stepped out into the air, I could smell it... Africa, the earth of a different continent.

So we enjoyed the Lion King, even though the performance was kind of patchy. At the end, the audience all rose to their feet to show their appreciation. A visiting South African friend sat next to me. She turned to me in astonishment. 'Yes,' I said, 'this happens almost always'.

Afterwards I wondered, why is applause not enough? Didn't we used to gauge the success of a performance by the number of curtain calls. And are we devaluing the chance to recognize truly outstanding performances by automatically getting to our feet when the show is over?

Living in the dark

I think it was Oscar Wilde who made a very disparaging remark about people who talked about the weather. Small-minded? Or lacking imagination? I can't quite remember. But anyhow, I can live defiantly with that because I like talking about weather. Also, let me remind you that, locally, the weather is what we have in common.

Soooooo... it's hot. Like 38 degrees yesterday, with rumours of 50 with the humidex. My husband said nostalgically, "On the farm, we used to pick grapes when it was 41."

Although I did go outside to water my plants, most of the day I spent indoors, airconditioning on, and all windows and curtains closed. The latter helps to keep the heat out.

In our previous home we only had one room airconditioned. I'd close up pretty early on hot days. But I was amazed when a Dutch neighbour came by and told me she'd opened all her windows to let the air through. Um... no.

The first time I ever experienced shutting out the heat was in Spain during the 'Fifties. I travelled by train with my cousin and we stayed in small homes that offered modest bed and breakfast. We walked through the front door, into the pitch dark. This also had to do with the brightness outside of course, but nevertheless. Wooden shutters were completely closed, and the interior was blissfully cool.

People who live in hot countries know that small windows are best. But I love all the light streaming through our large ones, especially in winter. Right now I try hard save electricity elsewhere -- like in hanging my laundry out on the line -- but in these dog days I'm grateful for central air.

Buttons

This post is more of a moan than a rant. You see, I recently cleared out a drawer in my bedroom. In it were lots of really small envelopes containing buttons. Spare ones, for items of clothing I've bought over the years.

What use are these going to be? If I needed a spare button, how would I find that particular one? And then there's the extra, unnecessary packaging. As I remember, in days of yore, spare buttons used to be attached to the garments. How much better was that?

Not that I have anything against buttons per se. In fact, I'm rather fond of them and miss the days when I used to make my own clothes, take pride in the sewing of buttonholes, and found enjoyment in choosing just exactly a suitable or quirky set to finish off a dress or jacket. And I have sweet memories of how my grandmother, also a seamstress, used to entertain our elder daughter with her collection of buttons, making up characters and stories. Four grey suit buttons, tied together, were 'the four naughty boys'. A clear, colourless button was the ice-cream man, and so on.

So I'm reluctant to ditch them. Maybe I'll find a way to pass them on to someone who can have fun with a collection of single buttons. Unfortunately, I think that particular decorating trend has already passed.

The sandal scandal

My sandals are all in a sad state and my soul is not happy about having to look for new ones. My bank balance won't be either. 

The trouble is these new soles -- or are they uppers? What I mean is, the part of the shoe that your foot actually rests on. This has been cushioned in the last couple of pairs I bought, and at first that was great. But what I've discovered is, these soles act like mattresses. i.e. after a while there's too much imprint from the body (in this case, feet) and they become too soft and therefore uncomfortable.

Sigh. A visit downtown has to be on the cards, even if we are in the midst of a heatwave.

Meanwhile, you'll never believe what I'm wearing. It's a sandal that's still available today, but I've had mine since... wait for it... the early 'Sixties!! They're the Scholls wooden shaped sole with an adjustable leather strap over the toes. Works for me. At least, in the house and garden.

Do you know what day it is on Monday?

This question became a kind of gentle joke in our family after one year when my parents repeated it over and over again. And yes, that particular Monday was special in that it was their wedding anniversary. They were married for just under 60 years. That's a long time to be together in a loving relationship, which theirs was.

So today it's Nelson Mandela's 93rd birthday. Mandela Day was, I believe, instituted in 2006 and is celebrated in countries around the world. This morning I heard a radio interview with a man from his 'clan' who used to see him walking to the law courts in Johannesburg every morning in the early 'Fifties. Knowing the city, I could picture that very well. Sadly, I've never seen Mandela in person, although after he left Robben Island he was in a prison not far from where we were farming at the time.

Anyhow, the suggestion is that we do some good today.... 67 minutes worth in commemoration of the 67 years he worked for liberation from apartheid and reconciliation afterward.

I'm planning to take some discarded clothing to Goodwill. A small gesture, I know, but I believe any intentional act helps in the larger scheme of things.

Oh, and I'll be thinking and working on reconciliation. Not in real life, but for a scene in my novel-in-progress.

Fluttering by

I was without easy internet access for the last past of the week, plus I was away taking care of writing business and visiting old friends. Riding my bicycle this morning, I realized the simple prose poem I wrote could well be relevant to the title of my blog. So here it is.

In the bathroom, walls glazed with cerulean
Slipping into sky blue with touches of lime.

Lily pads bear white lotus flowers.
And underneath the wall sconce,
a yellow butterfly clings in profile
casting an instant (yet temporary)
Spell of invisibility.

A single dragonfly by the door ...
Flying out...

And later, at Heidi's, there's more:
This time, double-winged, the dragonfly
Zooms over the overflowing, blooming
flowerpots nearby.
While a butterfly -- white not yellow --
Does its frilly dance, hovering above
the fancy-edged white petunias.

So I wonder,
These insects, are they sent to say
Strengthen your wings and fly?

Threads

I'm not referring to 'threads' as clothes. Maybe that slang is passe, and 'duds' is what's current now? Not sure. The thing is, I've never really been into slang, even though it interests and often amuses me. During the ancient days when I was working in the library of the French Institute in London, my colleagues used to tell me with some relish that my predecessor 'parlait argot'. Not me. Although I do enjoy buying a French magazine from time to time simply to feel a little more 'au courant'.

And so, to threads, the kind that's a thin-spun string used for stitching clothes. I have two of them at present, dangling down from my skirts. The trouble is, I always notice them at an inconvenient moment when I don't have a pair of scissors handy. Used to be you could break the cotton easily with a twist of your fingers. No more, alas. Cotton thread has largely been replaced by polyester. Maybe what I have to do is, as soon as I've published this post, go straight away and cut off those two annoying dangles.

One of the small superstitions my mother used to hold was that it brought good luck if you plucked a thread off someone else's clothing. The trick was, you had to keep quiet and not say anything to explain. I've done this once or twice and received some rather startled looks!

I'll be on your screen again on Sunday, but meanwhile have to take care of business.

Ciau for now.

Mosquito season

I was tempted to entitle this post 'Amos', in honour of that old knock-knock joke, the one that goes, 'knock knock'
'Who's there?'
'Amos.'
'Amos who?'
'A mosquito.'

This lingers from my childhood and comes to mind often in these hot summer weeks. Just this morning I went out into the garden to pick raspberries, and was almost carried away by those biting bugs. Presumably, they object to my impinging on their territory, or do they simply like the taste of my blood?

Vampires!

Certainly they bite me much more than they do my husband, who'll call to me to come outside when he's being bitten. My daughter-in-law has a theory that mosquitoes prefer O-negative blood. She might have something there. On our recent holiday, the family member who suffered the most bites were her, my son (not her husband) and her eldest child. Shame, as we say in sympathy in South Africa. For me, the good thing was that I seemed to be fourth in line!

In Cape Town when our children were small, we had a friend visit who was teasing them with tickling. He pointed a finger high above his head and threatened as he brought it in a downward spiral amidst much mirth 'Here comes a mosquito from Swaziland!' So now if a particularly big mozzie is flying around, we say 'There's a mosquito from Swaziland.'

I've learned to suffer those first few minutes of burning sting without scratching. But these days, I'm allergic to certain mosquito varieties (of which there I many, I believe). Then I anoint myself with Weleda Combudoron gel (no, I'm not getting any kickback). Sometimes it takes three applications to quell the swelling.

Why don't I simply use bug spray? It's because I don't like to put poison on my skin, or to breathe it in, for that matter. And what do I do if I don't have the gel handy? Heat works. So if you see me holding a tea- hot cup or coffeemug to my arm, or ankle, or whatever, don't think I'm crazy. See?

Bumper and Trunk messages

Okay, it's summer, so I'm in the mood for a couple of lighter posts.

I've always been interested, and sometimes amused by vanity plates. Every now and then a new one comes my way, like last evening, when I was riding my bike around the neighbourhood and spotted one that proclaimed '3LETS'. Ooooo how glad I am that I only had to deal with one baby at a time, although as a child I thought twins might be fun.

Anyhow, travelling around recently it struck me that there's a growing trend to 'message' the rear of your car, van, SUV or whatever. Have you noticed? Maybe it started with the 'baby on board' and the pink ribbon against cancer. Later came the yellow one and then various statements such as dog paw decals and outlines of two adults and their kids. Others proclaim some kind of affiliation. There was one, however, that truly baffled me. This looked like domino spots on each side of the car, just above the rear lights. There were a couple that went vertical, and some were horizontal. Huh??

This morning a bumper sticker came my way that I actually related to. It stated, 'I love my grandogs'! Yeah!

Group buying

For some time now I've been a member of one of those companies who offer a special deal every day, usually a 50% off some service, product or restaurant meal. Not so long ago I read a humourous essay about some of the unlikely services offered. Nevertheless, I have to say there've been a few I've been happy to take up.

But I'm starting to have mixed feelings about the whole deal. Yes, I can see the business advantage in making more people aware of your company/restaurant/spa services or whatever. However, when I actually go and take advantage of the deal I feel somehow... a little bit mean, as if by paying less I'm not acknowledging the true value of what I'm receiving.

So I'll probably go on buying occasionally. And meanwhile, my car is going to be extremely happy (not to mention surprised!) to be cleaned and detailed next Monday!

Taking photos

I sent a friend some pics from our recent trip down south. She complimented me and said they looked professional. No, it was just me. Although at the mid to late teenage stage in my life I did contemplate taking up photography in a serious way. While at the Royal Ballet School I went through quite a few black and white rolls. In a way it's a pity my mother was so not a pack rat, because there could be some historically interesting snaps there, if they still existed.

However, at some point in my twenties, on my travels to exotic places such as Zanzibar, I realized that I was walking around with my consciousness more directed to what might make a good photo than to what I was actually experiencing in a more general way. So I cut back and even got to the point where, in some years, I didn't take any photos at all.

Now I think (hope!) I've found the balance. Photography is fun for me again and I don't let 'keeping that eye open for a pleasing image' rob me of being in the moment.

Viewing Art in Galleries and Museums (longish post)

This morning I received a long, wonderful and moving email from one of my dearest soul sisters... or should I say 'kindred spirits' a la Anne Shirley. Yes, I've been thinking about Will and his Catherine, visiting PEI because of L.M. Montgomery, a favourite author of mine when I was a girl. And yes, I've been there.

But that's by the way.

My friend in South Africa has just returned from a visit to St. Petersburg and Novgorod. In the early 'Nineties I had the chance to go there. It's one of the great regrets of my life that I didn't get to the Hermitage then. It simply didn't make sense financially, and though I can often make a plan somehow, that time, I didn't.

She wrote in particular about seeing Rembrandt's 'Return of the Prodigal Son' and what a deep impression that made on her. She said how lucky she and her husband were to spend an hour with this painting 'with swoops of tourists settling on it for a few minutes and then rushing off to the next one'.

Hmm. In the days when we lived in London, or close enough to go up for the day, we'd often visit the National Gallery in particular. Usually I'd go specially to see one or two paintings. This meant walking into the gallery and making a bee line for that particular one. You can't imagine the strange looks people sent my way! It seems that the going gallery culture dictates you start in one room, go around that, and then move onto the next. Why, I have no idea. Sometimes now, when I go to a special exhibition, I'll retrace my steps to have another look at a particular work of art. There again, I get some very strange looks.

But really, if I really take in a good painting, live for a while with the colours, shapes and forms, I very soon feel full, and don't need twenty more.

Another friend is visiting now, which means I'll be making a trip to our gallery with her (because that's what we always do). This is a treat for me. She's an artist, and I get to look with her eyes as well as mine. I already have a chosen painting in mind!

Happy 4th July

Driving through New York State today, we passed a 4th July parade about to happen. Earlier in the day, the young woman in the coffee shop we stopped at wished us a 'happy 4th'.

Patriotism is an interesting thing. Years ago when I began writing 'Cape Town', my writing tutor who helped me through the first draft said I shouldn't describe my heroine as having patriotic feelings because that was an out-of-date sentiment. Now I'm wondering if he'd say the same today. It strikes me that most people still have a deep connection to the country where they live, were born, and/or brought up. And why not? Surely we should be grateful for all we've gained from our lands.

Perhaps there's a balance here, as in so many things. If patriotism becomes nationalism then it's a different beast entirely. But I think it's good to stop and celebrate, as long as we do it with the right kind of consciouness and intention.

A Pause to Refresh

Dear Readers,

My computer is ailing, so I'm taking this as a Sign. Although the words are flowing from my mind I'll be putting them down with pen and paper for the next little while. Look for me again around the beginning of the second week in July.

Meanwhile, enjoy what flutters by in your life.

The Summer Solstice

Just like that moment when the tide turns from flow to ebb (or vice versa) and the sea seems to hold its breath for a while,so the solstice brings a pause between lengthening and shortening days. I thought, this is a good time for me to pause and take stock of my life, what's happened in the year so far, and where, from here on to the end, I might be going. Or want to be going.

Summer days bring good moments for musing, I find. Maybe this has something to do with the fact that I'm more likely to be out in the warm air, enjoying nature and her gifts, watching the sky and the clouds, the sunsets and so on.

These experiences led me to thinking about the bountiful gifts that surround us, that mother earth and the heavens provide. And, unfortunately, how we are ruining everything. This came home to me in a particular way recently when I read a couple of different articles on the BBC and Guardian news sites. Apparently, fashion is killing our world and it's not only our consumptions of cheap clothing but also the demand for cotton. The dyeing of denim is turning some lakes blue.

Ouch. I prefer to wear natural fibres. Plus, I enjoy fashion. I try not to buy more than I need and keep my good German garments for as long as I possibly can. Even my grandson, watching me pack a suitcase, said 'The same clothes, Nana'. Yes indeed. Still, I'm far away from the days when I owned far fewer garments. The habit of having more has crept up on me over the years. Now I'm promising myself to be as mindful as possible in future.

Meanwhile, my summer needs are met, even if I will need a new swimsuit before very long!

Summer heat

Our weather is gorgeous, but it spaces me out. So this is simply to say, I'm taking a few days writing break. You can look for me again towards the middle of next week.

In the meantime, stay cool!

Or, if you're in the southern hemisphere, be warm.

Earthquakes and Eclipses

Today, a poem for you, one I wrote last week and which is self-explanatory.

THE FIERY MOON
I woke this morning
early dawning
and out my window,
looking North, I saw the sun.
But no! of course, it was the moon,
yet gold and shining so
under a stripey cloud of grey
that I wasn't truly sure.

But I looked North.
It couldn't, shouldn't be the sun;
And what if it were?
If the earth had tilted
and changed
North to a new East?

All my certainty would be gone;
the ground beneath my feet now
twisted to a new reality.
And I'd be forced to ask myself
Why? and Whose fault is this?
Could it be mine?

What if it were ours?

I saw the moon again last night. Fortunately it was in its usual place, and shining silvery-white rather than glowing golden. So I thought about the eclipse that we wouldn't see. As a child I was much struck by the movie 'A Yankee in King Arthur's Court' (no, sadly, I didn't know it was based on a book). One New Year's Eve in South Africa I sat on our front lawn and watched a complete eclipse of the moon.
What an amazing sight that was.
Today is the third eclipse over the last weeks. That feels like strange things happening in the heavens, although presumably they're still ordered as always. I have to say, though, that the tilting of the axis that occurred with the earthquakes does feel rather scary to me.

Good habits lost and rediscovered

Is it the too-much-to-cope-withness of modern life, I wonder, that has made me lose certain good habits that were second nature to me when I was younger? I'm thinking of a couple of ones that I'm trying to re-establish.

First of all, there's good posture. Of all the physical things that impact our well being and health as we grow older, I'd say good posture is one of the most important. My grandmother kept hers all her life, and she was pretty healthy until her death at the age of 93. She walked and sat upright and looked (and was) all the better for it.

When I was still at school in South Africa, I spent a couple of years in high school before I left for Engand. The Anglican sisters had a simple system of reward, a badge for good posture. It was a small enamelled metal button, blue with a gold edge. I remember wearing it  with pride, pinned onto my blue flowered cotton uniform dress. Of course, in those days, we never dreamed of wearing jewellery to school.

All I'd needed to do was to remind myself every now and then to adjust my shoulders. And that's what I'm trying to do now, especially as sitting at the computer makes me inclined to slump. I know that's not good for my internal organs.

The second thing I'm trying to reinstate is the habit of giving my hair a good brushing. Those hundred strokes we used to do every night when we were young has long been a thing of the past. I suspect that's generally the case. But I'd like to keep my hair from thinning (as much as that's possible) and the scalp stimulation helps. Besides, it feels good!

It seems a pity to me that we can lose good habits, and yet those bad ones cling so determinedly. Perhaps the golden key to reinstating the good ones and losing the bad is simply to keep reminding oneself. And trying again.

Flower Festival

Yesterday was Whitsun, a festival of flowers. With it comes the thought that the soul is like a flower, or maybe that we see some kind of reflection of soul in a flower. I helped to create a simple event where we all brought a bloom to contribute to a bouquet (oops, alliteration is running away with me!). Although June for me means roses, our lone bush has only buds on it at present, and so I went, instead with the other flower that signals this time of year for me: peonies. So pretty they are too.

Last week was busy and it was hard to make space for something extra. And yet, if I don't make the effort to highlight the seasons of the year, time passes by me in a blur. I'll be glad to have something in June to remember when I do what I've recently started to do on the 31st December -- that is, take my art calendar off the wall and page back through the months in the reverse direction. I try to remember at least something that happened in each month. You'd think it would be easy, but sometimes... not.

This is not so much to bring closure as to bring more consciousness, to gather the harvest so that the future can more readily come towards me.

When the weather is hot

When the weather is hot and humid, my brain shuts down. In days of yore, in fact, the only creative writing I could ever manage in June and July was poetry. Since then I've trained myself, but still...

So this is by way of apology. It's not that I haven't had any thoughts, it's just that they've melted away out of my head. Hopefully, they'll flutter back in over the weekend.

Meanwhile, I enjoy the garden, do some planting, hang up laundry and spend time in the kitchen. That at least gives my husband a break.

Summertime. Summer time?

Today our temperture is going to feel like 40 degrees, with the humidity. For me this means I'm in danger of turning into a 'grease spot', as we used to say in the days when I shared a flat with my cousin in Earls Court, London. Yes, it can get pretty hot and sticky in good olde England.

So I got out into the garden early to plant some beans, and hoe the strawberries. How it works with us is that my husband does the digging and soil preparation and I plant the veg, water, and pick the harvest. What about weeding? Hmm. I'm not too good at that. Usually, I'll get help from the man of the house if he sees me toiling on hands and knees.

All this to say is that it's definitely feeling like summer to me. And at the solstice on the 21st, I'll consider it Midsummer, although, strictly speaking, that's only the beginning of this warm and wonderful season. This made me think of how many times my actual experience is in disagreement with what 'science decrees'. I suppose that's okay, seeing as science changes its mind on a daily basis (sorry, I have no figures to back up that statement!). So I wonder in general, for us humans, what do we deem more true? What science decrees or what we experience?

Edges and Corners

Today I'm wearing my Sunday worst. This is because I'm doing a bit of late spring cleaning, paying particular attention to edges and corners. As soon as I'm done here, I'm going outside to do some gardening.

Cleaning window sills and skirtings (oh yes, you call them baseboards) set me thinking about how today we use the word 'edgy'. I suppose it comes from the 'cutting edge' which I suppose has to do with knives.

Anyhow, it had me asking a couple of hypothetical questions. What do we experience on the edges of our lives? And, What do we catch a glimpse of in the corners of our eyes, or the corners of our minds?

I suppose a spiritual and/or artistic discipline works towards training us to catch and perceive the more subtle aspects of both the invisible and the visible.

Enough of the abstract! Let me tell you about a karmic meeting I had yesterday. It also has to do with corners, strangely enough. I went to do a little shopping, and arranged to meet my husband at a branch of one of our local chains of organic, fair trade coffee shops. When I got there, he was deep in reading the newspaper. I went to buy my cappuccino and then, as soon as I'd sat down, I heard a voice: "Hi Brenda."

Sitting in a corner (yes!) nearby was a member of my local writing chapter. We'd never before had any one on one time, so this felt like a special encounter. I abandoned my husband and went to sit with her. We had such a good and interesting chat, and I look forward to connecting with her more often.

I find these meeting 'coincidences' interesting, although I have to confess, sometimes if I'm tired or in a very different headspace, I duck my karma. Then, later, I feel bad about that and wish I hadn't. After all, it must take some doing to get us both to the same place at the same time. Who am I to say 'no thanks'?

Now I'm off to get carried away by.... mosquitoes!!

A Sign for 'Bless You'?

Yesterday I had tooth surgery. Circumstances demanded I drive myself to the dentist and back again. Not too much of a problem seeing as we live about five minutes away.

It was a windy day. In order not to clutter myself too much I took a small purse with me. Kind of a mistake, actually, because, afterwards, I didn't tuck the receipt in properly. So when I went to the car, the wind whisked it away, under the chassis. I hobbled around to see if I could pick it up from the other side.

While I was doing that, a woman patient from the dentist's office came outside to help. The wind took the paper again and sent it scurrying further along, under another couple of cars. She raced and plucked it off the ground.

"Thanks so much," I said, "I can't run." (having a hip replacement some time later this year)

"I know," she said.

And went back inside to fetch something, I imagine. Meanwhile, I was feeling a bit woozy, and having to back the car out of a rather tight spot, while being aware of who was walking behind me, and how close I was to the row of cars behind. The same woman realized again the state I was in. She stepped into the parking lot and indicated when I was good to go with a thumbs up. I smiled and waved. But what was really in my heart was a huge, amazed gratitude. I wished for a hand signal or sign to say, 'Bless you.'

So I've been wondering what such a sign might look like. Do you think it might be the gesture the little girl makes in that famous Picasso painting, the one where she's holding a small bird between her hands?

The Seven Things you Don't know

First of all, this was an interesting exercise, so thanks to Melanie Robertson-King who handed me the baton.

 1. I can hold a tune and stay on key better when I whistle than when I sing.   

2. (kind of following on from that). In my university student days, I used to travel regularly between Johannesburg and Cape Town on steam trains. See my website http://www.brendahammond.ca sometime next week for a blog on this subject.

3. I was on Robben Island before Mandela! There'll be a website blog on that as well, so tune in soon.

4. Melanie and I have some family history in common. That is, some of my ancestors came over from Scotland to Canada having been British Home Children, probably at the same Orphan Homes of Scotland west of Glasgow. My grandfather was the eldest of six children. He went out to South Africa to seek his fortune. Meantime, back at home, the siblings were orphaned, and so sent away to a 'better life'. In fact, they survived all the hardships and made good.

5. I speak French and used to be so fluent that I was once asked what part of France I came from. Now, alas, I'm rather rusty. I speak quite a bit of German, and understand more, and I have a good spattering of Italian. Less of Spanish, so I'd like to up that sometime. Then there's Afrikaans. Renee, the 17 year-old heroine of my novel 'Cape Town' is Afrikaans, and when you read it :-) you'll learn quite a bit about this charming 'taal'. When I was growing up in South Africa, we had to learn both of these official languages. However, because I went to high school in England (the Royal Ballet School) I never became particularly proficient.

6. Although I love to travel, and follow a spiritual path, I've never felt the least inclination to visit India or the Far East.

7. I've been inside the great Pyramid of Giza, in Egypt.

So, dear Readers, what do you think?

Seven things you don't know about me

I'm wearing a mini skirt today in honour of Bob Dylan and the Sixties. Since you ask, yes, it looks okay. And I have people who can back me up on that.

However, that's not one of the seven things you don't know about me. I was recently handed the baton for this and will pick it up soon. Right now I'm on deadline, so look for me next around the 2nd June.

But hey, what happened to five things? Why has that expanded to seven? Actually, I could probably spend the rest of my life writing things you don't know about me, but that would likely be extremely boring. So I'll carry on working on the seven.

Catch u later.

The end of the world?

'The world's never going to end,' says my elder son, 'because it's always tomorrow in New Zealand'.

Well, tomorrow's already been and gone in N.Z., and here we still are. I'm interested, though, in how much interest and buzz there's been around the prediction that the world will end at 6 p.m. today. I believe in the Bible, although, as I understand it from the scholars, some of St. Paul's writings have been compromised and tampered with over the years. But doesn't it all come down to interpretation?

Anyhow, I'd say we humans have a lot more evolving to do before we can be taken up into heaven. I have, for sure. My concern lies around the question of how much longer the earth can go on living (see p.s. for a follow on to a recent saving energy post). Also, there's a kind of confusion, I'd say, around the word 'world'. I'm no etymologist, but presume the world comes from the Germanic 'welt'. And in German there's a distinction between 'welt' and 'erde' (earth).

When I was growing up in the Anglican church, many times I heard the words 'World without end, Amen'. So where does this fit in?? Maybe, instead of translating 'welt' to mean 'world', we should translate it to mean 'universe'? That makes a lot more sense to me.

It's almost a platitude today to say that humankind is destroying the earth. How terrible that we get used to an idea and then, slowly, the urgency of the message fades into the background. In this wonderful season of spring, when we look out on the burgeoning green leaves and can fill our eyes with the sight of beautiful, colourful blossoms and flowers, let's try and be kind to Mother Earth.

p.s. We recently installed a new hot water cylinder because ours was getting past its time. When I ran the hot water tap I found the water was literally burning hot. My husband turned the temperature gauge down once, and then once again. Apart from the danger to the children, we don't need such hot water. The use of a dishwasher provides its own, and so does the washing machine, if we need it to. So, folks, to help save the planet and lower your energy bills, turn down the heat!

The voice in my ear, the voice in my head

So yesterday I had a message on my phone, inquiring about school pick-up status. To respond, I dialed my son's cell-phone. Heard only the ringing tone. That was, until a chirpy female voice told me he wasn't answering, and 'not to take it personally' !! Um, this is my son and I'm not to take it personally?? Actually, I didn't, but rather chuckled at the irony. This got me thinking though, of recorded voices, especially when they're anonymous. There's that rogers guy who states bluntly, 'No one is available to take your call'. I switch off after that. Not literally, because I usually go ahead and leave a message.

But I have to wonder, what kind of karma are these 'voices' accumulating for themselves?

A very long time ago, I was interviewed on the radio. Now I'm hoping that archive has been destroyed. Although I'd be glad to do an audio version of my upcoming novel, I'm hesitant. Do I really want my voice 'out there' once I'm gone?

For a writer, a strong voice is, of course, a very good thing. I've struggled to find mine. When my critique partner would remark 'your voice is very strong here' I'd think 'huh? but there's nothing there!' Stephanie Meyer of 'Twilight' fame gets a fair amount of flak in the writing world, but I admire her simply for this: She has a compelling story-telling voice. And that's a rare and valuable commodity.

Energy cost

Last week, to my great delight, two writer friends were in town and we had lunch together. One of them is newer in my life, the other older. So the newer friend was telling us how she noticed a huge jump in her energy bill for March this year, compared to March last year. And why was that? Because she'd been writing a lot and had therefore been on her computer much more. Who would have thunk it would make such a difference?

So now I'm going to make sure to turn on my computer only when I'm ready to sit down and engage with it. And I'll turn it off whenever I know I'm not going to be using it for a few hours.

Last year I was at a writing conference and attended a terrific workshop given by Don Maass, agent and author of writing how-to books. He's an amusing speaker, but I wonder if he expected laughter when he asked how many of us had left our computers plugged in when we left our rooms. Yes, that cord goes on pumping out energy whether it's connected to our laptops or not. As does those chargers for our cell phones. There I sat among the chuckles, somewhat horrified to think my fellow creatives thought this a source of amusement.

If I were truly diligent, I'd go downstairs to the basement last thing at night and turn off our power bar. However, due to my present hip disability, that will have to wait a while. And meanwhile, posting this has meant, I hope, that I've done my small bit to save the planet today.

Our Material World

It's raining today, which is good, because it's been dry. But this means that our neighbourhood garage sale day is confined to... well, garages. That also means I won't be taking a spin around the streets, but rather that my bike (acquired in this manner last year) will stay in the garage. That's probably also a good thing because, truly, I already have more than enough material goods for my needs. Mostly, I look for what might be useful/fun for my grandsons. One year I found a wooden rocking horse that's been well used ever since. But I also found a fancy grater which has only been lifted down from its high kitchen cupboard once.

Before I get to the main thrust of this post, can we go on a little diversion? Thinking this morning about what I wanted to say, I remembered the days when I used to call my bike my 'camel'. The term originated in this way:

In the early '60s I took a ship from Durban to Venice, travelling up the East Coast of Africa and stopping often. My girlfriend and I took a day trip from the Suez Canal into Cairo. In those days the tourist trade was minimal and we were lucky enough to go into the pyramids and see them standing in all their awe-inpsiring glory in the midst of desert rather than right on the fringe of the city. Also we rode camels.

A couple of months later the two of us took a two-week cycling tour of Holland to see old places and tulips. We started in Rotterdam. The first day was spent riding around the cobblestoned streets of that city. Next day, to put it mildly, we were more than reluctant to get back on our 'camels'.

Okay, so here's what I've been musing about all that surrounds and supports me in my life in a purely material way. How aware am I of what I have? Do I truly appreciate the comfort and convenience? And does it, perhaps, make a difference to the grand scheme of things whether or not I'm more conscious and appreciative? On a purely practical level, it must do, because surely appreciation leads to caring. I try my best to create a good atmosphere in our home, so maybe this is a new step that I'm ready to take. And now, looking around my study, I'm thinking I'd better go do some furniture polishing!

p.s. Blogger was down yesterday, said something about 'mean time'. As you know, I'm always interested in what's going on with our English language. I'm observing some words that didn't used to be split, are now two. For instance, the above, but I've also noticed an increasing tendency to write 'can not' instead of 'cannot'. On the other hand, some words that used to be two are now one. Fascinating!

Walk, or bike?

When I was a child, teenager and even into my twenties, I didn't really enjoy walking. Walking was something I did for practical reasons, not for pleasure. As a child I walked to and from school until my parents could afford to buy me a bicycle. Even then, it was at least one size too large for me. Still, it was a bike, and oh the freedom of freewheeling home downhill when the school day was done!

At that time my parents never suggested we go for a walk, also, I think a carryover. My mother had to walk two miles to the train station and back when she first started working. My dad enjoyed 'going for a stroll' in later life, but she never did.

During my years in England, things slowly began to change. When, at ballet school, I lived at White Lodge in Richmond Park walking out on a weekend meant a change of scene. On a Sunday us older students would walk to the early service in the Anglican church in East Sheen. But for me, inclement weather or chilly winds would often spoil the experience.

My husband's family was completely the opposite, and that too, helped me ease into the pleasure of perambulation. This was good, because family walks with children began to feature quite large in my life. Walking it was for years, and for years I no longer owned a bike.

Then I visited Holland a few times and rediscovered the joy, the easy pace (no, I don't do the racing bit, and also prefer to be upright, not bent forward), the feeling of being connected to nature and the changing skies above.

These days, an arthritic hip restricts my walking. I miss it dreadfully. But my bicycle offers a solution. With gears set to 'easy riding' I can get outside, wheel around and enjoy the spring.

How many Mothers have you?

As I thought about Mothers' Day today, I began to widen my concept. Because there are, or have been, other mothers in my life and not just my birth mother, close to the angels as she was. My mother-in-law woke me up in certain needed ways. Aunts played a big role for me, both when I was a girl and when I grew up. But as I look back, I see two non-family-connected women who were and are vitally important to me . Both of them happen to be younger than I.

This week I'll meet with one of them. She's the woman who's been a mother to me as far as my fiction-writing is concerned. I still have a vivid memory of sitting opposite her at Tim Horton's not very long after we met. Together we worked out a short paragraph summary of my book that I used in queries to publishers and agents. Over the years this was modified a bit, but not much. Now I have an agent and my novel 'Cape Town' will be published next spring. I couldn't have arrived at this point without her.

Then there's the woman who I consider my spiritual mother. Although she lives across the Atlantic, we know we'll always be close, even if we never see each other again in the flesh. She helped me find the path I was seeking and set me right. Without her I wonder if my life would ever have been as rich and meaningful, if I'd ever have found a way to grow into wonder at the world, or found a method to lift my consciousness and develop towards confidence and self-knowledge.

To all of these I send my love and gratitude. Now, how many 'other' mothers have you had in your life?

A Peppery Post

This is our well-loved and used pepperpot, so old it's almost an antique. We love it because of the shape that fits perfectly into your palm, and because it does the job of grinding peppercorns. It came from Knysna, in South Africa and is made of blackwood, not, I believe, an indigenous wood although the trees grew in the forests nearby. Incidentally, there used to be elephants in those forests and were up until the time I was a teenager. I'm happy to say I never had any close encounters when we went on forest walks.

One Christmas, years ago, we were invited to a home outside Sheffield, in England. Our host had recently been inducted as a Master Cutler, so he knew all about blades and things like that. I think it was he who taught us a useful 'how-to', and this is it.

When grinding pepper onto your food, always twist in one direction only. This will keep the grinder sharp and help prolong its life.

I hope you'll remember this if you ever come to visit!

Social and Anti-Social Media

Social media has been one of the themes of my week so far. It all started on Sunday, when I attended a workshop on the subject at my writers' group. The whole question of what kind of web-presence I want, what content would be advisable, and how much time I need to spend on this is looming large because of the fact that my novel will be coming out next spring. Current wisdom is that authors need to be spinning their webs in cyber space.

Then yesterday I heard a fascinating program on the radio as I was driving. The guy being interviewed was obviously hot stuff when it came to the latest 'in' vehicles for connecting with audience, communicating, and generally putting yourself out there. To my surprise, he classified email as 'so 90s'!

But he said, not to ignore it because the trouble with blogs, Facebook and Twitter is that it's conceivable to lose everything you've written, all your contacts, and therefore all the time you've invested. He also suggested email messages should be confined to three sentences. Hmm. I guess he doesn't know what long sentences I can write, especially if I put my mind to it!

I actually signed up for Facebook very early on, but only starting posting a few years ago. And generally my 'friends' consist of family. (I'm glad they're my friends when you think of that saying as to choosing your friends but not your relations!) But now I also have an author page. Not that there's anything really up there, but maybe this time next year I'll get it going.

My being late to the party is likely to continue. I mean, who except for those working on the cyber-edge, and teenagers, can keep up? Do I even want to? (don't answer that.)

I enjoy blogging the most, I think. Being generally long-winded when I write, Twitter is not fantastic for me, and neither is Facebook, although I 'like' and 'comment' fairly often. Feeling connected is special, that's true. On the other hand, when I'm being social on-line, it means I'm not sharing face time with my husband, even if we're sitting opposite each other, both busy with our lap-tops!

Catch it while we can?

Spring, that is. It seems to me that we really only have three seasons, here on the Eastern side of North America. Spring is so fleeting that it hardly qualifies as a full season. Yes, I'm thrilled today's a beautiful day and that any minute now the trees will burst into leaf, but oh, I long for a more gradual transition. Am I complaining about these last bleak months we've lived through? You bet I am.

Compensation is at hand, however. This morning I began removing those heavy and dark winter woollies from my closet and replacing them with lighter, more colourful clothes. And man, does that ever feel good. Even if I'm not quite wearing them yet.

Years ago in South Africa I had a friend who told me, to my great surprise, that she loved winter clothes. Well, she was British. Sadly, she and her family emigrated to New Zealand and we lost touch. But I think she liked the fact that, in those ancient days, winter clothes were slightly more formal. As for me, my bliss is to wear three garments only. Two kinds of underwear and a light dress!

A Westminster Wedding

What to say when, in my mind, I've been in London all morning? Maybe simply that I'm grateful for the years I lived in that city, and today even more for the fact that one of the first boroughs I got to know was Westminster. My great-aunt lived in a flat on Horseferry Road (how do you like that?) and I often went to spend weekends with her. Favourite Sunday afternoon haunts were Westminster Abbey and the Tate Gallery. Even better, at that time the number of tourists was minimal compared to today. In the 'Sixties, when May came around, we'd notice the influx of Americans. How different it all is now.

As I watched the proceedings in real time I kept on getting flashbacks to old memories, all good ones fortunately! But would I have liked to have been there, in the crowds? I don't think so. The intimate view brought by modern technology was just so incredible, and to be able to share in the ceremony so amazing. Maybe, if I'd been younger, or actually invited to the wedding, my opinion would have been different.

Catherine is a beautiful, brave young woman. But I'm still puzzling over the deeper significance of wearing a dress with a train. My silly side suggests having yards of fabric trailing behind you might stop you rushing down the aisle. Or maybe it would hinder the quick exit if you happened to change your mind at the last minute? Certainly it adds to the dignitas of the occasion. Still, there has to be something more to it. Does anyone have any ideas?

The Magic of Three

We were away for the Easter weekend, back in our old haunts and with the great delight of picking up contact with old friends and acquaintances.

On Monday morning I began packing my bag in preparation for returning home, and as I did so I realized that after three nights I was already beginning to feel settled in. I'd made a little place for myself, so to speak, even if it happened tobe in someone else's house. (Thank you, Ute.)

I know that when I travel far away I'm pretty much over the worst of the jetlag after three nights. There's some magic that happens between falling asleep and waking up that brings me into this different place. And I'm grateful for it.

Easter is so much about the magic of three. But then, there's also that business about the Easter bunny and looking for eggs, isn't there? I always thought the two things had nothing to do with one another but now, for the first time in my life, I realize there's a symbolism there. The children go out into the garden (weather permitting) to search for the new life that lies, waiting to be cracked open and to bring joy and sweetness to us all.

Thresholds

We have a family birthday coming up in May, and a few weeks ago a baby was born to one of my niece's. This means, of course, that presents are in order.

I was speaking to our daughter this morning, and moaning how I never quite manage the time factor when it comes to posting parcels enough in advance. She told me she was the same and said for her too, this was a difficult threshold.

That set me thinking, because it is, to me, a new way of looking at the matter. Why do certain fairly trivial things become mountains in my life, when I know that once I get down and take action, it's sure to be a breeze? Plus, I'll feel virtuous instead of guilty. Not to mention how the whole affair will be hanging over my head for days if not weeks. Maybe this is something I could change without too much effort. Certainly I find that writing down the tasks I want to accomplish helps a great deal. But sometimes those notes get carried over, and carried over, and carried over.

Tonight is Maundy Thursday, and ahead lies a very great threshold. This year, particularly, I feel its magnitude, and yet I look forward to the resurgence of life and healing that Easter Sunday will surely bring.

Do you know what the birds say?

That's the Shakespeare quote that's been much on my mind since yesterday. Although the weather was chilly, the sunshine was glorious and the wind had stilled after the blustery gusts of the weekend and Monday. Suddenly I heard a loud bump and saw that two quarreling birds had hit the side of our house. One fell dead immediately. The other landed on the deck and lay stunned. Not wanting to frighten it to death and hoping it would recover, I didn't go outside until hours later when I found it had moved a bit. So I took out a saucer of water and sure enough it manoeuvered closer and drank a few sips. Only a few minutes later, it too lay dead.

And then again, came a bang and another bird lay dead on the grass. I think that one flew into a window. Came a flurry to stir the air and a whole fleet of their companions were fluttering in our maple tree and that of our neighbour. After checking our bird book, my husband told me they were waxwings and that they liked to strip trees of berries. Not that our maples have such things (do they?) Now today the flock are still busy in our street.

So, in this 'still' week, I'm wondering, do these birds do as the ones mentioned by Shakespeare (the swallow, the dove...) and say 'I love, I love'?

Record Store Day

Yesterday I mentioned Earth Day. Today, according to my man, is Record Shop Day, when you're supposed to remember/think/blog about the first record you ever brought. Yes, Nostalgia City, big time.

However, rack my brains as much as I may, I can't recall the first disk I ever bought. Obviously, it wasn't that memorable. But my husband can remember his. In fact, we still have it. This is a 9 inch vinyl recording of Fats Waller, still in its sleeve, with a photo of the musician himself and the title 'Aint Misbehaving'. Many, many many's the time we've listened to it over the past fifty years and it's still fabulous. Although, I have to confess, since we downsized I haven't found a good place to put our turntable and so it lurks in the basement. One of these days...

Music is one of the great pleasures in my life. I'm so grateful to have the opportunity to listen, especially when it's a live performance, still the bestest way to go. And I'm fairly eclectic in my tastes. That is, I was, up until a few years ago. Now I no longer manage to keep up with pop music, don't do rap much at all (I think that's when I started to lose it). Like many other things, music has become so varied and complicated today. So now I'm faced with a dilemma. Should I make an effort to be more au courant, or shall I simply Let It Be?

Soap crisis!

I should have waited to post this for earth day, but seeing as my need is immediate you're going to get it now. And therein lies the problem. I can't get it now. A bar of soap, that is.

My preference is to use a plant-based soap, usually Weleda Iris, but I can't get that locally and am not a fan of internet ordering. The last time I ordered a cosmetic on-line, we had to collect the package from a location a fair distance away, so apart from the nuisance factor there was the cost to the environment and the gas cost to us.

When I went into our nearest source of such things (Pharma Plus, actually), I noticed a drastic reduction in the range of bars of soap. Pump containers and tubes are taking over. Frankly, I don't this is good. Consider the pump. Great for the manufacturers because I'll bet you that 99 times out of 100 you use more of the product than is necessary. Never good for the environment, when you think how how water is increasingly polluted. Also, like those tubes, when it's done what are you left with? Plastic.

Now, when you use a bar of soap, what you're left with is a tiny sliver. And even this can be useful because you can do as my mother used to, and put it in your linen closet or down the side of your upholstered chairs to keep the towels, sheets, etc. smelling fresh and unmouldy.

We're so clever today at making basics more convenient, but sometimes there's something to be said for certain old-fashioned ways.