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.