Language changes rapidly these days, which is (mostly) fine by me. What concerns me, though, is that spelling is becoming too fixed. For this, I blame ze spellcheck. In a recent manuscript I used the word 'prised', as in 'I prised the lid off the jam jar', or whatever. A red underline rapped me over the knuckles. Ouch.
Anyhow, being in need of some humour, I've been rereading Georgette Heyer, this particular book published in the 1940s. 'Hallo' came a greeting, and I thought, why can't I use that spelling anymore? Or, not in North America. It sounds different from 'hello'. Both, of course, can be and are used humourously as in 'hel-lo!' or, as that old English comedian Jimmy Edwards used to say on the radio in a very suggestive way "'allo, 'allo, 'allo"
He used to play polo in Richmond Park and us ballet students used to wander by occasionally.
Anyhow, I digress... and in more than one direction, because I was thinking of greetings in general. The other day I was taken by surprise when a woman greeted me with 'Good morning'. It left me smiling, though. And I thought, with some nostalgia, how nice it used to be to mark the passing of the day with the progression from morning, through noon and afternoon, to evening and night. I confess I've fallen away from this way of greeting. Maybe I should revert. Or would that sound and be too old-fashioned?
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Coffee time?
Although I love coffee, I know it's poison for the heart. Because I have to pay attention to this, I go with my doctor's advice and restrict myself to one cup a day. Which I drink mid-morning.
Right. So I want to savour this moment for sure. Unfortunately, what I've found is that I take a break, not by sitting and relaxing and spending a little social time with my husband, no. Both of us go back to our computers, and I check out a certain publishing-related blog, as well as facebook and twitter. But you know what? When I'm absorbed in what's going on on screen, I don't even taste the coffee, let alone smell it.
Something's gotta change.
Musings led me back to when I first started drinking coffee. As a child, coffee didn't feature in our home. We were all tea-drinkers, and this continued during my first couple of years in England. But then came... the coffee-bar culture! We'd hang around in the trendily-decorated (and dark) little shops such as The Troubadour, where we could also catch some live folk singing and skiffle. Cappuccinos were the order of the day, and surely they remain my favourite.
Ah, how innocent was my teenage time!
Right. So I want to savour this moment for sure. Unfortunately, what I've found is that I take a break, not by sitting and relaxing and spending a little social time with my husband, no. Both of us go back to our computers, and I check out a certain publishing-related blog, as well as facebook and twitter. But you know what? When I'm absorbed in what's going on on screen, I don't even taste the coffee, let alone smell it.
Something's gotta change.
Musings led me back to when I first started drinking coffee. As a child, coffee didn't feature in our home. We were all tea-drinkers, and this continued during my first couple of years in England. But then came... the coffee-bar culture! We'd hang around in the trendily-decorated (and dark) little shops such as The Troubadour, where we could also catch some live folk singing and skiffle. Cappuccinos were the order of the day, and surely they remain my favourite.
Ah, how innocent was my teenage time!
Sunday, March 27, 2011
My Brush with Royalty. Really.
After watching 'The King's Speech' I did some web research. One of the facts I discovered was that David, the Prince of Wales and sometime, almost King Edward VIII, was born in White Lodge in Richmond Park.
This was the Georgian mansion (built by George III) where I spent two years as a boarder. Often when I fly into London Heathrow I look out of the window (I prefer a window seat because of that extra little bit of space it gives) and easily spot the building and surrounds. Then I indulge in a little nostalgia, mostly for the beautiful gardens-that-were, and the many walks in the park.
When I first went to London, the ballet company and school were still called Sadlers Wells. The school was still at Barons Court. And then came royal patronage, the move to Richmond Park and the name change. Princess Margaret became the patron of the school. At White Lodge she graced the official opening with her presence. I was fortunate enough, as a representative of the colonies, to be one of the pupils presented to her. Before the big day we were all given lessons in the correct way to curtsey and everything went fine.
What was my impression? That, in spite of her lovely smile, her photographs didn't do her justice. And what really amazed me was the incredible bloom, the true English rose of her complexion. Yes, she truly lived up to her name of Margaret Rose.
This was the Georgian mansion (built by George III) where I spent two years as a boarder. Often when I fly into London Heathrow I look out of the window (I prefer a window seat because of that extra little bit of space it gives) and easily spot the building and surrounds. Then I indulge in a little nostalgia, mostly for the beautiful gardens-that-were, and the many walks in the park.
When I first went to London, the ballet company and school were still called Sadlers Wells. The school was still at Barons Court. And then came royal patronage, the move to Richmond Park and the name change. Princess Margaret became the patron of the school. At White Lodge she graced the official opening with her presence. I was fortunate enough, as a representative of the colonies, to be one of the pupils presented to her. Before the big day we were all given lessons in the correct way to curtsey and everything went fine.
What was my impression? That, in spite of her lovely smile, her photographs didn't do her justice. And what really amazed me was the incredible bloom, the true English rose of her complexion. Yes, she truly lived up to her name of Margaret Rose.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
My brush with English royalty
Early in January I told my husband I'd like to go and see The King's Speech. He didn't say 'no', but we didn't actually get there... until last Saturday, more than two months later! After the movie he confessed he hadn't been keen (really?) but was glad I'd dragged him along.
You probably can guess it was worth the wait. Also, I'm glad we caught it on the big screen. While watching I found old memories coming up... like, for instance, the day I heard about the death of King George VI. Being a colonial, and still rather young, the royal family hadn't featured very much in my life. Although we went along to wave as they drove through streets not far from my home, I don't remember their South African visit.
But that day I can recall so clearly. We had expat friends, and their daughter was at school with me. I can see how Ann and I sat together on the brown earth near the tennis courts. She wept. Her tears surprised me, but also woke me up to the reality of the monarchy.
Then there was the London fog... experienced a few times when I lived in England. Yes, that driving scene was very close to what my husband and I went through one night. We'd taken a 10 minute drive through Regent's Park to play bridge with some friends. While we were engrossed in our cards, the mist came down. We set off and soon realized how difficult the driving conditions were. Although it was chilly, my husband had to take off his jacket (so I could see his white shirt) and walk along the edge of the road so that I could drive slowly along behind him.
The drive home took over an hour.
(Okay, the brush with royalty will be here next time! Sorry folks for the teaser.)
You probably can guess it was worth the wait. Also, I'm glad we caught it on the big screen. While watching I found old memories coming up... like, for instance, the day I heard about the death of King George VI. Being a colonial, and still rather young, the royal family hadn't featured very much in my life. Although we went along to wave as they drove through streets not far from my home, I don't remember their South African visit.
But that day I can recall so clearly. We had expat friends, and their daughter was at school with me. I can see how Ann and I sat together on the brown earth near the tennis courts. She wept. Her tears surprised me, but also woke me up to the reality of the monarchy.
Then there was the London fog... experienced a few times when I lived in England. Yes, that driving scene was very close to what my husband and I went through one night. We'd taken a 10 minute drive through Regent's Park to play bridge with some friends. While we were engrossed in our cards, the mist came down. We set off and soon realized how difficult the driving conditions were. Although it was chilly, my husband had to take off his jacket (so I could see his white shirt) and walk along the edge of the road so that I could drive slowly along behind him.
The drive home took over an hour.
(Okay, the brush with royalty will be here next time! Sorry folks for the teaser.)
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Spring equinox
Well, I was expecting this to be tomorrow, but I was told the equinox varies, and it's actually today. Works for me because I'm delighted to know that spring has officially arrived. It feels like spring too, even if we did have heavy frost last night (good for the maple flow, I believe) and woke to -10.
Early one morning last week I heard birds twittering, then spotted skeins of returning geese and walked to the mailbox to the accompaniment of their honking. Two robins hopped along the top of our fence and cocked their shining eyes at me as if to say, 'See? We're back'. And now the doves are cooing.
Last night, of course, was Big Moon Night. We saw its pearly, shining face and felt the wonder of that silvery light. In 1992, the last time the moon was this close to the earth, I happened to be staying with my parents in their home on an island in the Knysna lagoon. Around the periphery of this small piece of land, the lagoon is kept in check by a stone sea wall, built, so they say, by Italian prisoners of war. The high spring tide broke through and flooded the common in front of our house, as well as the causeway leading to the island. No real damage was done, but I began to wonder how the rising water that was predicted to happen with global warming would affect us. So far, the water hasn't risen, but there's no doubt about it, Cape summers are hotter and drier than ever.
This morning I noticed the sun rose in almost exactly the same spot as the moon did last night. So, thinking of the equal lengths of night and day, equilibrium was the word that came to my mind. Sometimes it's hard to find our equilibrium, especially when we're witness to such disasters as the earthquake, tsunami and their nuclear aftermath. On my way to a small gathering, the sky was wide and blue . The road curved around. There, in the sky in front of me, two jet trails intersected, forming a perfect cross.
Early one morning last week I heard birds twittering, then spotted skeins of returning geese and walked to the mailbox to the accompaniment of their honking. Two robins hopped along the top of our fence and cocked their shining eyes at me as if to say, 'See? We're back'. And now the doves are cooing.
Last night, of course, was Big Moon Night. We saw its pearly, shining face and felt the wonder of that silvery light. In 1992, the last time the moon was this close to the earth, I happened to be staying with my parents in their home on an island in the Knysna lagoon. Around the periphery of this small piece of land, the lagoon is kept in check by a stone sea wall, built, so they say, by Italian prisoners of war. The high spring tide broke through and flooded the common in front of our house, as well as the causeway leading to the island. No real damage was done, but I began to wonder how the rising water that was predicted to happen with global warming would affect us. So far, the water hasn't risen, but there's no doubt about it, Cape summers are hotter and drier than ever.
This morning I noticed the sun rose in almost exactly the same spot as the moon did last night. So, thinking of the equal lengths of night and day, equilibrium was the word that came to my mind. Sometimes it's hard to find our equilibrium, especially when we're witness to such disasters as the earthquake, tsunami and their nuclear aftermath. On my way to a small gathering, the sky was wide and blue . The road curved around. There, in the sky in front of me, two jet trails intersected, forming a perfect cross.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Gremlins for ever?
During the last phase of his long life, my dad's one regret was that he never learned about computers. Some fellow had offered to teach him, but my father declined. Maybe it was just as well, really. There are times when I truly envy those few friends of mine who don't own and spend little time on a computer. Just recently I read an article about how our daily life is increasingly enmeshed in this way, and how the time spent in the virtual world is part of our reality. Scary. One of the questions posed in the article was, 'Can a friendship formed on line be a true friendship?' I wonder. Yes, I have a dearly loved email buddy, but then, I'd met her even before we began our continuing correspondence.
Working on the computer, so many of us run into glitches and we put that down to what we call gremlins. From time to time you can hear me trading grrrrrr insults with them. But I wonder if we're doing a disservice to these machine beings. Right now I'm busy building a couple of websites. (I'll let you know as soon as mine goes live.) What made me think of my dad, is because, much to my surprise, I'm thoroughly enjoying this process. I know he would have been enthusiastic, especially as this was one of his main and very-endearing traits.
And you know what? There've been a couple of moments when I've really felt those gremlins have been helping rather than hindering me. Thanks very much, little... er... peeps?
Working on the computer, so many of us run into glitches and we put that down to what we call gremlins. From time to time you can hear me trading grrrrrr insults with them. But I wonder if we're doing a disservice to these machine beings. Right now I'm busy building a couple of websites. (I'll let you know as soon as mine goes live.) What made me think of my dad, is because, much to my surprise, I'm thoroughly enjoying this process. I know he would have been enthusiastic, especially as this was one of his main and very-endearing traits.
And you know what? There've been a couple of moments when I've really felt those gremlins have been helping rather than hindering me. Thanks very much, little... er... peeps?
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Small rituals that bring comfort
Yesterday was a dreaded day, because I was confronted with a visit to the endodontist. Of course, that brings to mind the expression 'I need that like I need a root canal'. Anyhow, not to keep you in suspense, this all went well and the guy was excellent, had nimble fingers and an efficient but caring manner. I'm recovering quickly, and am much relieved.
So there I was, getting ready, standing in the bathroom putting on moisturizer and stroking my face in the massage-movements I learned for this process many moons ago. And again, I found myself pausing for a second and thinking, 'This feels good. Comforting'. Yes, we know that touch is important, but usually we connect that with having a massage or being enveloped in a warm hug.
I'm grateful for these moments that feel like a grace.
Years ago when I was in my mid-teens I suffered from acne. Really terrible. My mother started taking me with her to the aesthetician, what we'd call a spa today, and Swiss Annabelle was the one who taught me the facial massage movements. My mom thought it important to 'take care of your skin' and she was surely right, living in that sunburned country that is South Africa, and even more intense, being exposed to the sunshine that dries the skin so much when you're 6,000 feet up (in Johannesburg). So she passed the habit onto me. I find it a good one, although I keep my cosmetic usage fairly simple. She did too, but I remember how these simple but inessential daily rituals added to her quality of life as she grew older and older. And when at last she let go of them, she released her hold on something. Maybe that was a help too.
Now I'm trying to think of other examples. I shall try and observe!
So there I was, getting ready, standing in the bathroom putting on moisturizer and stroking my face in the massage-movements I learned for this process many moons ago. And again, I found myself pausing for a second and thinking, 'This feels good. Comforting'. Yes, we know that touch is important, but usually we connect that with having a massage or being enveloped in a warm hug.
I'm grateful for these moments that feel like a grace.
Years ago when I was in my mid-teens I suffered from acne. Really terrible. My mother started taking me with her to the aesthetician, what we'd call a spa today, and Swiss Annabelle was the one who taught me the facial massage movements. My mom thought it important to 'take care of your skin' and she was surely right, living in that sunburned country that is South Africa, and even more intense, being exposed to the sunshine that dries the skin so much when you're 6,000 feet up (in Johannesburg). So she passed the habit onto me. I find it a good one, although I keep my cosmetic usage fairly simple. She did too, but I remember how these simple but inessential daily rituals added to her quality of life as she grew older and older. And when at last she let go of them, she released her hold on something. Maybe that was a help too.
Now I'm trying to think of other examples. I shall try and observe!
Monday, March 14, 2011
Lighting a Candle
Here is a quote from an email I received this morning, from my dearest and oldest friend in South Africa. The first sentence expresses exactly what I've been feeling. And the second brings thoughts I'd like to share today.
"Reeling with dreadful earthquake disaster in Japan - so soon after New Zealand's. Have lit my candle trusting God's transforming love will touch them somehow."
I was brought up in a home where, apart from those on birthday cakes, candles were never lit... not that I can remember anyhow. At my high-Anglican junior school things were different because we had candles in chapel. I think. But I never considered lighting candles for a specific purpose until I read Rumer Godden's 'A Candle for St. Jude', St Jude being the saint of lost causes, as you probably know. The story hasn't stayed with me, although I usually enjoyed her books.
These days I light a candle soon after I wake, while I do my prayers and meditations. Then my husband lights a candle and reads a verse when we sit down to breakfast together. Weirdly, that's it for the day. Yep, nothing in the evening (unless it's Christmas or we have guests for dinner) or late at night.
So what is the significance of lighting a candle, apart from the soft glow the light brings, and if we're lucky, the sweet perfume of bees on the air? I think the gesture brings a moment of consciousness, and maybe we stay in that different level of consciousness while that candle is burning. In other words, it marks the moment and takes us into another space.
"Reeling with dreadful earthquake disaster in Japan - so soon after New Zealand's. Have lit my candle trusting God's transforming love will touch them somehow."
I was brought up in a home where, apart from those on birthday cakes, candles were never lit... not that I can remember anyhow. At my high-Anglican junior school things were different because we had candles in chapel. I think. But I never considered lighting candles for a specific purpose until I read Rumer Godden's 'A Candle for St. Jude', St Jude being the saint of lost causes, as you probably know. The story hasn't stayed with me, although I usually enjoyed her books.
These days I light a candle soon after I wake, while I do my prayers and meditations. Then my husband lights a candle and reads a verse when we sit down to breakfast together. Weirdly, that's it for the day. Yep, nothing in the evening (unless it's Christmas or we have guests for dinner) or late at night.
So what is the significance of lighting a candle, apart from the soft glow the light brings, and if we're lucky, the sweet perfume of bees on the air? I think the gesture brings a moment of consciousness, and maybe we stay in that different level of consciousness while that candle is burning. In other words, it marks the moment and takes us into another space.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Everyday Design
For my morning ablutions today I used a new piece of soap, oblong and about 1 cm. thick (or, half an inch). The corners were slightly rounded, but you know what? I found this bar so uncomfortable to use that I decided to avoid buying a similar shape ever again. (notice I avoided using the 'never' word). My preference, soap-wise, is for Weleda. Usually I buy the Iris, but occasionally indulge in the Rose. These are so wonderfully, ergonomically designed that, even apart from the soft texture and scents, they're a pleasure to use. This morning's deodorant was better than my soap experience... a rounded screw-top lid that morphed into an oval shape near the bottom, so it was easy for these rheumatically-challenged fingers to open. I sent a little, mental nod of recognition to whoever the designer was.
The thing is, every manufactured article that surrounds us has been designed... for better or worse. Good design makes quite a difference to our lives. We have an old Samsung cell phone that's small, light, and easily slips into pockets or purses. No, it doesn't have any photo-taking capacities or anything else that the new phones do, but it does the job for us. And frequently people remark and wish they had a similar one.
Technology is so much part of our modern lives. Apart from the fact that Apple started with a people-oriented perspective rather than that of the machine, I'm wondering if their amazing success doesn't have a lot to do with their nifty designs.... my lap top has rounded corners and closes with a satisfying click. I like that!
Now if I can only get my industrial designer son to take a look at my new website-in-progress...
The thing is, every manufactured article that surrounds us has been designed... for better or worse. Good design makes quite a difference to our lives. We have an old Samsung cell phone that's small, light, and easily slips into pockets or purses. No, it doesn't have any photo-taking capacities or anything else that the new phones do, but it does the job for us. And frequently people remark and wish they had a similar one.
Technology is so much part of our modern lives. Apart from the fact that Apple started with a people-oriented perspective rather than that of the machine, I'm wondering if their amazing success doesn't have a lot to do with their nifty designs.... my lap top has rounded corners and closes with a satisfying click. I like that!
Now if I can only get my industrial designer son to take a look at my new website-in-progress...
Friday, March 11, 2011
What would we do without Mozart?
A while ago I wrote a poem entitled 'What would we do without Debussy'. On this tragic morning, though, I'm listening to the exquisite and uplifting Mozart Concerto N27. However, when I turned on the radio, I wasn't paying particular attention, being involved in my own thoughts and feelings. There I was, sitting putting on my make-up in anticipation of an excursion, and I suddenly thought, 'Hey. Stop. Listen and pay attention'. The moment I did, gratitude filled me for this wonderful music.
Now, it took me long years to really get into classical music. At ballet school we used to be taken to the Festival Hall in London to listen to rehearsals. Often, we'd be so bored (Hindemith, anyone?) that we were reduced to counting the bald heads in the orchestra. Yes, in those days they were in the majority. At university I began to listen a bit here and there, but I'd say it was another twenty years before I truly began to appreciate and access the great richness that listening to classical music can bring. Especially when it's live.
So, thank you to those who dedicate their lives in order that we can all be enriched.
Now, it took me long years to really get into classical music. At ballet school we used to be taken to the Festival Hall in London to listen to rehearsals. Often, we'd be so bored (Hindemith, anyone?) that we were reduced to counting the bald heads in the orchestra. Yes, in those days they were in the majority. At university I began to listen a bit here and there, but I'd say it was another twenty years before I truly began to appreciate and access the great richness that listening to classical music can bring. Especially when it's live.
So, thank you to those who dedicate their lives in order that we can all be enriched.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Mom on my mind
Since yesterday's post, my mother has been on my mind. It's said that, as you age, you're likely to resemble your mother more and more. All I can say is, 'I hope so'. She and my dad both lived late into their nineties and approached old age with the extraordinary courage that had stood them in good stead during their lives.
I can't say that I'm looking like her, except perhaps size-wise. What I do notice is that my movements are starting to be the same, that I'm more likely to hold onto a railing for balance, and wow, I've discovered how useful it is to have a bathroom stool so I can sit down to dry my toes! Before, I took a bathroom stool to be there for the purpose of dumping clothes or towel upon. But now my awareness has widened...
And now that I approach spring break, I remember how willing to help she and my dad always were. Whatever my request, I knew they'd do their best to meet it if they possibly could. So, hopefully, I can show my appreciation by doing the same.
I can't say that I'm looking like her, except perhaps size-wise. What I do notice is that my movements are starting to be the same, that I'm more likely to hold onto a railing for balance, and wow, I've discovered how useful it is to have a bathroom stool so I can sit down to dry my toes! Before, I took a bathroom stool to be there for the purpose of dumping clothes or towel upon. But now my awareness has widened...
And now that I approach spring break, I remember how willing to help she and my dad always were. Whatever my request, I knew they'd do their best to meet it if they possibly could. So, hopefully, I can show my appreciation by doing the same.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Women's Day 2011
One day, quite a long time ago, I said a few words at a meeting of the Anthroposophical Society, of which I am a dedicated member. Afterwards, another member who was both the Waldorf kindergarten teacher and a curative eurythmist, came up to me and said, 'I never knew you were such a feminist'.
I stared at her in surprise because, truly, I'd never thought of myself like that.
If I am a feminist (yes!!) it's not because I was downtrodden, abused, badly treated by the opposite sex or anything like that. Rather the opposite in fact. With one exception, my dad was always encouraging and supportive of anything I wanted to do in the world. He'd been that way with my mother too. She was an excellent businesswoman and he allowed her a pretty free rein in life. Again, with one exception.
So, what were these two exceptions? Taking the last first, I can tell you that my father had strong opinions when it came to how women should look. In spite of the fact that my mother had blue eyes, he never wanted her to wear blue. And she didn't.
Once he read a draft of a children's story I'd written. His comment? "Complete waste of time". My plan is still to prove him wrong on that manuscript one of these days! Actually, he was prejudiced against women writers in general, which was strange, seeing as his own aunt was an author.
Autonomy, sovereignty... those are the two words that for me sum up the essence of feminism. However, having heard Gian Ghomeshi's excellent interview with Germaine Greer just a few nights ago, I think it's good to look towards what we need to work for in the future. That is, to live in community and cooperation with our sisters.
I stared at her in surprise because, truly, I'd never thought of myself like that.
If I am a feminist (yes!!) it's not because I was downtrodden, abused, badly treated by the opposite sex or anything like that. Rather the opposite in fact. With one exception, my dad was always encouraging and supportive of anything I wanted to do in the world. He'd been that way with my mother too. She was an excellent businesswoman and he allowed her a pretty free rein in life. Again, with one exception.
So, what were these two exceptions? Taking the last first, I can tell you that my father had strong opinions when it came to how women should look. In spite of the fact that my mother had blue eyes, he never wanted her to wear blue. And she didn't.
Once he read a draft of a children's story I'd written. His comment? "Complete waste of time". My plan is still to prove him wrong on that manuscript one of these days! Actually, he was prejudiced against women writers in general, which was strange, seeing as his own aunt was an author.
Autonomy, sovereignty... those are the two words that for me sum up the essence of feminism. However, having heard Gian Ghomeshi's excellent interview with Germaine Greer just a few nights ago, I think it's good to look towards what we need to work for in the future. That is, to live in community and cooperation with our sisters.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
A begging letter from abroad
Early this week I received an email from a friend and reader-of-this-blog with the subject line 'Trouble'. Being somewhat concerned, I opened it straight away, and then chuckled with disbelief. It was a scam letter saying she was stuck in London, her credit cards were inaccessible etc. etc. and please could I help.
So why did I chuckle? First of all, months ago I received a similar but less grammatically correct mail from a fellow author. Also, I happened to know that my friend, although not at home, was in San Francisco rather than London.
Thirdly, and perhaps more interestingly, I realized straight away that the way the scammer (why are they always in London??) expressed him or herself simply didn't ring right. As authors, we become quite sensitive to that mysterious attribute known as 'voice'. This was not my friend's.
But, on a last note, my husband happened to be attending the same meeting as she. He told me she received lots of offers of monetary help. Yes, Jemima, there are generous people out there. What a pity we also have to be on our guard. It's nice, though, that we can rely on our scam sensors.
So why did I chuckle? First of all, months ago I received a similar but less grammatically correct mail from a fellow author. Also, I happened to know that my friend, although not at home, was in San Francisco rather than London.
Thirdly, and perhaps more interestingly, I realized straight away that the way the scammer (why are they always in London??) expressed him or herself simply didn't ring right. As authors, we become quite sensitive to that mysterious attribute known as 'voice'. This was not my friend's.
But, on a last note, my husband happened to be attending the same meeting as she. He told me she received lots of offers of monetary help. Yes, Jemima, there are generous people out there. What a pity we also have to be on our guard. It's nice, though, that we can rely on our scam sensors.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Earthquakes on my mind
Having family in New Zealand, albeit not in the vicinity of Christchurch, earthquakes have been much on my mind. It's an unstable country, where small quakes are so frequent the locals hardly notice them. Thus it was for me, growing up in Johannesburg when the gold mining made tremors from underground rock falls just part of life.
But it's a deeply unsettling feeling when the earth moves under your feet. We so much take its stability and support for granted. I can only imagine a little of what it's like to experience an earthquake on the magnitude and scale of the recent one in Christchurch and last year's devastation in Haiti.
We had a small taste in Cape Town. Must have been in the early 70's. My husband's brother was in town, and the three of us went out to dinner at the Mount Nelson Hotel. We were not in the grand dining room but down in more intimate atmosphere of the basement night club. Suddenly, the Californians at a neighbouring table got up and raced outside. It took us a while to realize what was going on and I think it only really dawned when the band's music trickled to a stop.
At home, luckily, the children didn't wake, but our dear maid Sarah who was baby-sitting had had quite a fright.
The epicentre had been in a small Boland town called Tulbagh. We did experience an after-shock, but it so happened my husband and I were driving in the car. That kind of cushions the shock.
A couple of weeks later, I took the three children up to Johannesburg by train to visit their grandparents. Our eldest told my mother, "We saw the broken houses."
She asked, "From the earthquake?"
Dear daughter answered, "No, from the train!."
But it's a deeply unsettling feeling when the earth moves under your feet. We so much take its stability and support for granted. I can only imagine a little of what it's like to experience an earthquake on the magnitude and scale of the recent one in Christchurch and last year's devastation in Haiti.
We had a small taste in Cape Town. Must have been in the early 70's. My husband's brother was in town, and the three of us went out to dinner at the Mount Nelson Hotel. We were not in the grand dining room but down in more intimate atmosphere of the basement night club. Suddenly, the Californians at a neighbouring table got up and raced outside. It took us a while to realize what was going on and I think it only really dawned when the band's music trickled to a stop.
At home, luckily, the children didn't wake, but our dear maid Sarah who was baby-sitting had had quite a fright.
The epicentre had been in a small Boland town called Tulbagh. We did experience an after-shock, but it so happened my husband and I were driving in the car. That kind of cushions the shock.
A couple of weeks later, I took the three children up to Johannesburg by train to visit their grandparents. Our eldest told my mother, "We saw the broken houses."
She asked, "From the earthquake?"
Dear daughter answered, "No, from the train!."
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