How do you like your toast?

Yesterday I was sitting at table, waiting for my toast to get cool so that the butter didn't melt into it. That reminded me of another English ex-pat friend who came to stay during the summer. She did exactly the same thing, and told me how she got into trouble from a German friend who asked her to make toast and complained vehemently that it should have been hot. Or warm, at the very least. Not cold.

I guess the clue to the difference lies in the combo of bread and butter. Do you prefer your toast crisp and anointed with gleaming butter that provides a smooth contrast? Or do you like it soggy, soaked through so that the butter melds with the bread?

Toast itself is a question for me. Why do we do this? Is it simply to help the loaf along when it's getting soggy? I don't know. What I do know is that when I don't have access to toast, I miss it. This I discovered when I was a boarder at the Royal Ballet School, and later on, when I lived in residence at the University of Cape Town. Oh the delight to be back home and rediscover toast! A little deprivation can certainly enhance appreciation.

Connections

Yesterday was my monthly meditation class. To help prepare for this and put myself in the right kind of mind space, I make sure to turn off my computer by 6 p.m. on Saturday evening, which is the 'eve', and so in a way, already the start of Sunday. And I keep it turned off until after, which is usually around lunchtime.

Yesterday I realized it's becoming harder and harder for me not to want the feeling of connection that facebook, email and Twitter bring, despite the fact that often actually checking the all latter leads to a slight let down. Nevertheless, it's the anticipation. Maybe there's something amazing waiting for me. I simply have to take a look.

So, feeling a bit horrified at my addiction, I started to think, actually to compare this to how it is in my morning quiet time when I intentionally and consciously think of those souls who are particularly close to me: family and friends. But also, with reference to the last post, those of my loved ones who have passed over, as well as those who have been spiritually connected with me.

What then is the difference?

Mostly obviously, I have no feeling of compunction in regard to my meditation and quiet time. This is something I do quite freely, even though the day would feel wrong if I didn't go to that special place. But there's something more.

Fiction, and in particular, young adult fiction seems to be all about magic powers these days. I think this has something to do with our times. More, I believe we can all develop our consciousness in a higher direction. So, when I work with connecting myself during my meditation time, that increases my ability to sense when someone is in need or ailing in some way. I'm not reliant on the internet, although if I don't phone, I might pop off a quick email just to find out how this particular friend is doing. I'm humbled and yet glad when I hit it right and my reaching out helps in some way.

My November

During November, those of my loved ones who have passed over are closest to me. So I try to take note of what wafts, unbidden, into my mind. This morning it was an old song. Maybe you know it...

If I could plant a tiny seed of love
In the garden of your heart,
Would it grow to be a great big love some day
Or would it die and fade away?

My dad used to sing this often, and truly, thinking of what kind of a father he was to me and my younger brother, I could say that he was all about song and story. He knew the words to so many of the popular songs of his youth, of his time during the Second World War, and on into his middle age. And he used to sing them, often. What a gift that was for us!

Maybe those old songs were easier to sing than many of the pop songs today, mostly because they had more of a melody. JMHO

My dad also used to whistle. This of course was something women did not do. So yesterday I was whistling and a friend, an ex-German, came up to me to tell me about an old saying: that women who whistle and chickens who squawk deserve to have their necks wrung!!

Hmm. I can actually hold a tune better when whistling than when singing. Perhaps the jury's still out as to whether either of these is acceptable!

Aimez-vous Brahms?

Ummm, maybe I've used that title before? If so, no apologies because I think it's a brilliant title. I also thought 'A Certain Smile' was pretty good. Yes, I read all Francoise Sagan's books, in French, years ago, and enjoyed them.

I read different types of books according to my needs. For example, romantic comedy when I'm jet-lagged. And if you happen to be in that state and feel the need, my new romcom 'Catch of the Year' will be out from Crimson Romance on the 5th November. Coming out with a bang, as my husband says, in reference to Guy Fawkes in the UK. So, not a brilliant title there, but my original one was discarded because it was too close to another novel the publisher had already released. Sob.

Before I go to sleep at night, I read Rudolf Steiner. With ref to the above paragraph, definitely from the ridiculous to the sublime!

And now to get to what was fluttering in my mind this morning and sparked this post. You see, I turned on the radio and heard Mozart. For me, he's the absolute best composer to listen to when I'm still half in my dream world, but waking to the day. I can also do Bach, Haydn and maybe Schubert. You get the picture. Beethoven and the romantics (yes, my beloved Brahms) can come later. Opera too. Better in the afternoon though, so I don't get too churned up. Really modern music has to wait until I can hear a live performance. Can't do it via the radio.

The realization of how my audible preferences change in the course of the day came to me via that wonderful film 'A Room with a View'. Did you see it? The heroine gets emotionally churned up when she plays Beethoven.

This was one of the few books-to-film where I saw the film first, and was happy to read the book later, and even felt I appreciated it more that way. The other one was 'A Passage to India'. This novel was part of my required reading at university, but I simply couldn't do it. Actually, I think I wasn't ready for most of the books on our reading list! But after I saw the movie, I got into the novel and found it wonderful.

Dressing up, dressing down

I read recently, maybe on the BBC site, that opera goers were being encouraged to 'dress down'. So I've been thinking about this.

When we go to a symphony concert or opera, I'm fine with whatever people choose to wear. But I really get a kick out of seeing those members of the audience who are dressed up. I mean, I can see people wearing jeans and tees any time, any day of the week, but how often do I get to see my fellow human beings all gussied up?

'Moonstruck' is one of my favourite movies. I can't imagine how it would be if the scenes of Cher beautifying herself and taking on a new lease of life were lost. Would the story work at all?

For me, too, I enjoy dressing up for an evening out. This lends a sense of occasion. I was going to write 'to my humdrum life', but that's not at all how I experience things on an everyday level. Nevertheless, when we have tickets booked for a special event, I love the sense of anticipation, the knowledge that we'll be swanning downtown to enjoy a performance.

Lifts the spirits, for sure. And don't we all need that from time to time?

Autumn in Gatineau

I first came to North America in late September, early autumn, so this time of year holds a special place in my heart. Although since then we haven't made it down to New England to see the colours, each year we do take a day and make a special excursion to soak ourselves in the glory. And this year has been my most spectacular so far. Partly, I think, this is because we have all the colours resplendent at once. Here's a glimpse:

After that first visit, I took my photos to be developed back in South Africa. You know what happened? To my great disappointment, they modified them, disbelieving that such reds, oranges and yellows could possibly be true!

Rhythms of Life

We've been in our present house for five years this month. As it was then, we have tomatoes in the garden. Otherwise, thanks to my husband, our little patch looks quite different.

Back in South Africa, when we were about to sell our Constantia home in order to go and live on the farm, our estate agent told us that five years is the average people stay in a house before moving. That may be different today, and of course she was referring to a certain demographic. I'm not going to go and google it. 'Snuf for my purpose.

One of these days we'll have to downsize. But not just yet.

Five years also, I've heard, is the rhythm of a marriage. This makes sense to me, for why else do we have 25 as silver, and 50 as gold? I wish I'd taken more notice of this timing over the years to sense what changes, developments and growth might have taken place in my relationship with my husband.

Seven years I believe is the rhythms of our individual life. The wise and wonderful Shakespeare told of this in Twelth Night 'At first the infant' etc. Certainly, I've had milestones happen around these times. 

How about you?

The examined life, you know?

What's up with Wednesday?

Whew! How the days go by. And the months, and the waxing and waning of the moon.

Recently, I've been thinking about Wednesdays. Seems to me it's getting a bad rap. More and more often I hear it referred to as 'hump' day. You know, that's not my experience at all. By Wednesday I'm really settling into the week and happy to be taking hold of my work, and my life in general for that matter.

Maybe that's because I'm a mercury person.

"Huh?" I hear you respond.

Well, according to astrology, Mercury is my ruling planet.

In the Latin languages, Wednesday is connected with the planet Mercury, as in mercoledi, and mercredi, for example. Mercury is an interesting influence, hard to catch hold of and many sided, but the one I like to deal with is that of communication. I interpret this as meaning it's a good day to communicate with others, whether it be face to face, phone-wise, web-wise or story-wise.

So, for a good day today, forget Woden the old Norse god and his warlike aspect (even if he's also connected with magic and poetry acc to Wiki). Rather go with Mercury. Move and communicate!

Blue Moon

Okay, I don't usually post so often, but I couldn't let this day and night go by without writing something about what's happening in the sky.

Two of our four children got married in a blue moon month. Not the same one, though. Hopefully, this augurs well.

I guess I'll have that old song on my mind for a while. It reminds me of childhood and teenaged days when we used to have fun on the piano with the tune. My cousin or aunt would play the base, and I would stand on their right and bash out the notes with pinky and thumb.

If I ever had to answer one of those interview questions that go: 'Which skill do you wish you had?' I'd answer, 'To be able to play the piano.'

Now, I used to be able to, and took lessons while I was at ballet school, and for a couple of years after that. But even though I really enjoyed playing, it never came easily to me. Years later, when we bought a piano so our daughter could learn, I found I'd lost everything I'd ever achieved. Couldn't even play Brahms Lullaby. I tried to get into it again, with no luck. Seems I just don't have what it takes in that direction.

But here's the thing. All you have to do to entertain and please me is to sit down in front of the keyboard and play.

These days that happens for me once in a blue moon. Seeing as our daughter lives too far away to visit, I guess I'll have to see what's available this weekend.

It said, I read

At lunch today I said to my husband, 'It said we're going to get rain tomorrow'. Then I realized this wasn't actually true, because I'd read, or rather, seen on my computer screen, that rain is predicted for tomorrow.

I used to get my weather info from the radio or TV. Then it was accurate to say 'It said'. But these days I'm mostly on line. So really I should have said, 'I see we're going to get rain tomorrow.'

Somehow that doesn't work for me either.
Over the past weeks I've become aware that my habit is to say 'I heard', or 'it said' whereas in fact, most of the time it should be 'I read'. I've tried substituting, but that doesn't quite ring right. Maybe because it's less familiar?

Summer heat

To be sung to the tune of 'Putting on the Ritz':

I'mmmmm closing all the windows
Drawing all the drapes
Shedding all my clothes...

Well, not all of the latter of course. The neighbours would likely complain and I prefer to have a light covering over my body. So think djellaba without sleeves.

This reminds me of the time I took a ship up the east coast of Africa. I believe it was in Mogadishu that the 'gully gully' man came aboard. The passengers weren't allowed off at that port, so he appeared to entertain us. I'd already heard about such people from my dad, who was 'up north' during the war. What the gully gully man did was produce chicks out of his djellaba, a kind of more abundant version of the magician's rabbit out of the hat.

I wonder why I didn't take a photo.

Anyhow, I digress. What I was really thinking was that I kind of wish we had wooden indoor shutters. They are so efficient at cutting out the heat. We made good use of them when we lived on a farm that had an old Cape Dutch homestead. The long narrow building was cleverly placed to ensure comfortable living in both heat and cold. So we had a front living and dining room and then an 'agterkamer' (literally, a back room) which was the same side as the kitchen. This gave us the two options.

The downside is that wooden shutters cut out the light. But I'm thinking that's okay, seeing as I'll either be outside today, or staring at the computer.

No doubt I'll be turning on the air-conditioning soon. But meantime I'll take a look at my farm memoir, which I plan to publish one of these days.

Listening and Hearing

I switched on to CBC Radio 2 this morning to help me along with bedmaking. The routine actions immediately sent my mind into float mode. A couple of minutes later I realized what I was listening to: the most sublime Mozart. But the noise in my head had prevented me from hearing this gift from the gods. Yes, my thinking was too loud, and blocked out the radio.

In a way, it's amazing that this can happen. But afterwards I thought, 'Why turn on the radio if I'm not going to listen?' Next time, I'll try to be more conscious.

Our On-Screen Lives

Are you like my husband and me? Every day we engage with other people via email. We check out various websites and blogs and maybe surf the web a bit.

Who doesn't? you ask. In first world countries, I guess most people do. And this surely brings quite a change in our lives because, unlike most other things that go on in our lives, most of this is not shared with our loved ones and families. Sure, there's facebook, but that's not really what I mean. I'm saying that a proportion of our lives is kept completely separate from those nearest and dearest to us.

Before the world wide web, I believe we shared more. We could and did ask 'How did your day go, honey?' But now, who's really going to ask, or even be interested in 'What did you do online today?'

This is the observation that's been hovering in my mind. Now I'm going to sit outside and watch the butterflies for a while.

Greetings

Thanks to the miracle of a new hip, I'm taking walks again. And as I go, I'm greeted and greet in return. If I 'go' first, it's a toss up as to what words to use and often, I confess, I simply say 'hi'. But more and more these days I appreciate it if the person coming towards me says 'Good morning' or 'Good afternoon' or 'Good evening'. This acknowledges the moment in the day that other greetings do not, plus we know that the 'good' part referred to God's morning, afternoon or evening.

Recently it registered with me that 'hallo' was a word only invented when the telephone came into use and something was needed that was, presumably, not tied to the time of day. Well, okay. Of course I use this frequently myself, although I remember my dear mother bemoaning the fact and saying how awful she thought that was.

Nowadays we hear 'Hey'. When I was a child this word was used instead of 'What did you say', but it came with disapproval. In fact, friends would chorus in response, 'Hay, straw, donkey manure'.

How far we've strayed from a heavenly greeting!

(two posts in two days. You can tell I'm not writing.)

A letter in the mail

Sometimes, occasionally, one can be glad that not everyone has a computer. This is purely selfish of me because it meant I received a real letter in the mail the other day. My cousin in South Africa had her laptop stolen soon after she got it and hasn't been able to replace it. So she wrote to me.

Now, she and I have been companions more or less all our lives and she's more like an older sister to me than a cousin -- especially as I never had a sister of my own. We went to the same school in Johannesburg and our paths crossed when she came over to England. Then, in the early 80s, we both returned to South Africa, this time to live in the Cape.

There it was that she opened a tea-garden called The Pink Umbrella. Yes, she can cook and cater but she's never been able to spell. In her letter she reminded me that, the first time I went into the garden and saw the menu she'd written, I pointed out 'June, you have five spelling mistakes'. She blinked at me and said with her sweet expression, 'How can you tell?'

How can you tell, indeed. Although learning difficulties and what we used to call dyslexia has been much researched over recent years, I don't think we really know these things, the whys and wherefores, even tho they tend to be explained genetically.

Anyhow, June writes so amusingly and her letters are a real treat. Last year she completed and published a truly delightful memoir/cookbook which should soon be available digitally. I'll be sure to let you know when.

A small touch of magic

About seven months ago I was in South Africa. As always, I like to bring home gifts, especially as you can find so many inexpensive and quirky souvenirs made from different materials there. The inventiveness of the human mind never ceases to amaze me!

So I fell for a key ring. It was made of a polished seed pod that fitted to happily into the palm of my hand, and I thought, 'I know, this can be for my son-in-law'. Richard Heys is a struggling and talented artist who has had what I can only refer to as a moveable studio over the last few years. Each time he finds a place, he cleans it up, paints it and makes it nice so that it's a congenial space, and then, a month or three later, he has to move on.

When I gave the key ring to him I said, 'This is for your studio. Your own studio'.

He gave a little chuckle of disbelief.

And now, guess what? Next month he and our daughter will be moving to a new house, one that has a beautiful studio attached. How wonderful is that?

Salut! On St. John's Day

'The world's bright loveliness...' so begins my translation of Rudolf Steiner's Calendar of the Soul verse for this week, specifically in the mood of St. John. And truly, no phrase could better express this morning and the glorious blooming of flowers and tree growth around me.

I was going to write 'etiolation' but that word always takes me back to when I first discovered it, specifically, to Lawrence Durrell, who used it in The Alexandria Quartet. I read this years ago when I worked in the library of the French Institute in London. Yes... lots of tempting books. But this I was reading in English on my lunch break when one of my French colleagues remarked, 'Ah she's reading 'Cleo'.' I've never tried to read them again and wonder what I'd think of them now.

On another, different note, I put my teeshirt on inside out this morning. My mother used to say 'don't change it because this means you'll get a letter'. For me proof of this saying was usually lacking. But I was thinking, these days I wouldn't need to keep the garment on inside out because of course, there's email!

And the cadence to this post is: sorry, but my website is down for a week. So don't go looking for me!

Summer Solstice

This time last year I was on vacation at the beach. Here's a poem I wrote then

SUMMER SOLSTICE

 

A green snake came to visit

slithering onto the stones

that paved the surround

of the swimming pool.

The green snake reminds 

me of Goethe...

but where is the beautiful lily?

Is she my beloved, elderly friend

whom I held so tenderly still

in my arms,

in my dream,

last night that I woke,

wondering,

if she lay dying?

I'm born in the Year of the Snake,

Yes. So it's my totem animal?

Yet I find it hard 

to overcome

revulsion 

and consider instead

the small head, the curiously curving

movements,

the slender line of its flexible body.

Why did it visit?

Where did it want to go?

What did it want to say?

I'll never know.

What does it mean to be romantic?

A friend who'd just about finished reading my novel (http://www.bit.ly/NN86F1) was bubbling over with enthusiasm. She said to me, "I didn't know you were so romantic!"

So then I started to wonder, What does it mean, to be romantic? The answer, I realized, is much more profound than at first it appears. Some claim that the world is split between those who have a romantic outlook and those who have a classical. A quick check on the web suggests most art is a mixture between the two, but usually tending more towards one than the other. Well, think of the romantic poets! But it's not only art. This also exists in physics.

I suppose it goes back to Greek and Roman times. When I look back over my life, I can see how the tendency of my soul was always towards romance. The first story I ever wrote had to do with one of King Arthur's knights, and although I know a fair bit of the German language, it's the romance languages that call to me: French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian... I love listening to them, and my ear easily becomes attuned to their lilt.

The classical outlook of course tends more towards order and less towards chaos. Sure, I prefer order in my life and in my surroundings. But as far as philosophy goes? Call me a romanticist any time.

How about you?

Transit of Venus today!

And it's going to happen in my zodiac sign, which is supposed to be incredibly auspicious. Let's hope so.

Do you believe that the movements of the planets have an influence? I certainly do, although I know astrology is supposed to be totally unscientific. But so many of us carry an interest and follow predictions or have our charts read (I haven't done the latter).

When I was in hospital recently, my husband brought me a newspaper so that I could amuse myself with the crossword. A nurse seized the paper with glee and immediately turned to the horoscope page. She read hers aloud to us all. After that, of course, the whole ward wanted to know what was going on with their sign.

Interesting, huh?

Now I'm off to send a copy of my book 'Cape Town' to Oprah. I'm sure she'd be interested if it actually manages to get into her hands. Again, let's hope so!!

Blog designs

So I'm at last managing to do some promotion for my novel, 'Cape Town'. This means I've been reading about what to do on-line (which seems to be essential these days). And I was struck my how many writing blogs use the image of an old-fashioned typewriter on their banners.

It's kind of weird, isn't it? I wonder how many of the writers have even seen one of those. And if they had and gave it a try I think they'd be only too glad that manuscripts no longer have to be typed out on those old machines.

When I was young, if you were any kind of a feminist, you were advised not to learn shorthand and typing because that would brand you as a secretary for the rest of your working life. I'm glad I didn't heed that. Finding myself with time to spare between leaving ballet school and going on to university, I took a three-months course.

Well! Those old typewriters! I tell you, half the course was directed towards making your fingers strong enough. We had to slam those keys as if they belonged to a very stiff piano! How different from the gentle tap we use today. 

The course served me well, although I'm sorry that over the years I've lost the shorthand skill. Would be so useful for lectures, workshops, conferences. But the typing I learned with a small cloth covering the keyboard? That's such a help when I want to move my handwritten words onto the computer.


Anyhow, all I can conclude is that some romance is attached to those vintage images, that they conjure up thoughts of... the Indiana Jones movie, maybe? Or there's some vicarious connection to authors such as Hemingway?

Getting back in the groove

My life has been interrupted over the last weeks because I underwent surgery. Thanks so much to those wonderful doctors, nurses etc who looked after me. Not to mention my daughter and husband who did the waiting-on-hand-and-foot till I was able to look after myself again.

Now that I'm pretty much recovered, it's time to take up my writing again. Also, my days are different because I no longer have to look after my two grandsons, something that's kept me extremely busy and well occupied over the last five years. (Yes, I miss them!)

So I'm faced with time on my hands, and I was thinking about something that's happening more and more. You see, a nine to five job provides a structure, a framework, for a working day. But these days more and more people are working from home, more and more people are retired, some are free-lancing and some, like me, are full-time writers. But here's the challenge: will I simply drift through my days, hoping they'll be productive, or will I find a rhythm that allows me to be productive, creative, do some promotion for my recently-published novel as well as find time to exercise and just... breathe?

In a way, this is a privilege and an opportunity. All I have to do is find what works for me, and then stick to this time-table I create for myself. Without being too fanatic or fixed!!

Happy Easter

I hope you are enjoying a full and glorious morning as I am. Once again, apologies for being a blog slacker. Blogs happen in my head, but don't always fly as far as the computer. And in the week ahead I'm not promising anything as I gear up for a very important and thrilling event: the celebratory launch for my book 'Cape Town'.

Celebrations, whether they be of such vitally-significant festivals as that of Easter, or simply of the smaller joys and milestones in our lives, are really important. Over the years I kind of let that awareness slip but have now come to a new appreciation and try to mark them more consciously.

Like the majority of writers and others who pursue an artistic career, my path has been strewn with rejections letter.  On Saturday, it'll be strewn with roses. Figuratively speaking, anyhow.

Can similes and adverbs survive?

I know, I know... I've been a blog slacker. But that wasn't my intention. It was all (or partly) due to living off the grid for five weeks. Now I'm back in the land of easy electricity, and here I am, on your screen again.

A while back, when Nathan Bransford was still agenting and blogging regularly about writing matters, he proclaimed that one simile per book was all he 'allowed'. Confession: my pre-order-on-Amazon-and Barnes and Noble etc. new book 'Cape Town' contains many similes.

Now, when my husband and I arrived at Auckland airport we picked up a magazine entitled, appropriately, Arrival. Yes, there were special offers, discounts, and ads, but we also found the pages a useful source of inspiration. What struck me immediately was an ad for a mobile phone network (I believe) that proclaimed 'Sweet As'. And that was it. This truncated figure of speech was confirmed by my daughter as being current in New Zealand. So you don't even need to think of a simile or a cliche but can say 'Hot As', 'Cold As' or whatever you like.

Hmmm.

Driving those bendy but picturesque roads, we passed many signs admonishing us to 'Drive Safe'. Well, that takes care of those writing 'rules' that proclaim you should only use words ending in 'ly very, very sparingly.

Then we passed a new sign that said 'Drive Safely'. Truth to tell, I felt like raising a cheer.

Waiting for the hip hop...er, make that 'op'

'Tis a not-so-well-known fact that many hours of intensive ballet will mean bad hips in later life. So far, fortunately, I only have one. Which is strange and I haven't quite accounted for that.

Next month it will be a year of mobility deterioration for me. Fortunately, I have no problem sitting at the computer, and so, much writing has been done. Nevertheless, the 17 year old heroine of my upcoming novel 'Cape Town' is a dance student. If you haven't taken a look at my website yet, go there tonight because I'll be putting up a new post. http://www.brendahammond.ca

And, if you really want, you can 'like' my author page on facebook.

Very very soon I'll have my cover image to share.

Enough already!

My main thought around all this preamble is that I'm having to learn to switch hands. When I go downstairs, cups, mugs and glasses have to be held in the right instead of the left so that I can clutch onto the bannister. Now, I know from Dr. Rudolf Steiner and Dr. Maoshing Ni that changing a habit such as this is strengthening for the life forces.

Yes folks, there's always a way to make lemonade.

This way or that?

I'm always intrigued by the different ways we do things and trying to figure out the reason why. If there is one!

What set me off on a train of this thought was 'unstacking' the dishwasher. See, I was replacing glasses in the kitchen cupboard, and setting them rim upwards. My observation is that plenty people set glasses, mugs, cups and so forth rim downwards. Does this originate from open shelves, when you didn't want dust or insects to settle inside, I wonder? Isn't it better now that we have doors to our cupbards, and won't they last longer if you set them rim upwards?

And then there's the business of putting cutlery inside the dishwasher, or into the dish drainer for that matter. Most people I think put the handles downwards. I tend to mix it up, here, so as not to spike myself. So, the tines of the forks go downwards and the blades of the knives too.

Now that I've set you all topsy-turvy, I'll get back to my writing. :-)

Snow day

Thanks to my ballet training, I have good self-discipline. Which means sometimes I drive myself too obsessively, these days, mainly with my writing.

Today we have a weather warning, with freezing rain and wet snow making the road conditions treacherous. People are advised to stay off them. Although I don't have to go out, I decided to give myself a snow day and simply relax with one of those two good books I was given for Christmas.

Kind of a busman's holiday. Good for mental health and at least I can justify the skiving by telling myself reading fiction is always a learning experience as well as a pleasure for me.

Burns night

Well, we kind of did this last night when we went to a concert that will be repeated tonight. The middle piece the orchestra played was the Max Bruch 'Scottish Fantasy' which includes the tune and rhythm of 'Scots Wah Hae'. I wondered what the words meant, so looked it up on wiki and discovered... Scots who have. Read it up if you're interested, as it also has relevance for what's going on politically in Scotland right now.

Since reading Georgette Heyer's 'An Infamous Army', for me Scots Wah Hae always conjures up the vivid image of marching to the battle of Waterloo, leaving Brussels in the early hours of the morning, a battle field where many of those braves will lose their lives.

Last night I did see one woman wearing a tartan skirt (Royal Stuart). I'm sure I told you that my great-aunt claimed we were entitled to wear that because we were descended from Bonnie Prince Charlie. However, she had a tendency towards social ambition so I'm kind of discounting that. I know lots of people are into genealogy these days but although I love historical novels, as far as my own life is concerned I'm... well, more concerned with the present.

And on a last note... although I've tried snails and frogs legs, I've never eaten haggis. How about you?

At the screen again!

The trouble with having a break from technology and being in holiday mode is that the real world is addictive. But I'm back. For a bit, anyhow. As I'll be having a great deal of regular writing work to do, I've decided to blog regularly for a month and then give myself a month off.

Visiting old haunts in Johannesburg, the Garden Route, Cape Town and then Sussex and London brought strange feelings, feelings of familiarity and home-coming along with the recognition that these places belong to my past. The energetic vibe of Johannesburg was great after that overnight flight that even the Flight Attendant thought was long! The sheer beauty of the Garden Route and then Cape Town and environs just blew me away. Of course, I have it all in my memory but somehow to experience the views of the mountains, the plains, the oceans struck me as breathtaking... especially in that sunshine so sharply bright.

And London! We went to see the stage production of 'War Horse' and caught a taxi between Victoria Station and the theatre. This meant we drove around past Buckingham Palace, down the Mall, through Admiralty Arch and up to Trafalgar Square. And I was back in my teenaged and early-married life, uplifted by the grace, beauty and grandeur of the buildings.

Ah yes.

So I began to worry: how would I feel when I got back to North America? Folks, it feels good to be home.