"Nobody uses cups and saucers anymore," my cousin said when I last visited her in Cape Town. "So I'm giving you tea in a mug, even though my mother must be turning in her grave."
I think both her statements are pretty close to the truth. Ask yourself, when last did you drink tea out of a cup and saucer? My answer would be: This morning. But I confess I use a mug at various times, oh yes. That's usually when I'm making tea for just me and not my husband, who tends to drink hot water.
Anyhow, I was think about this, and why a saucer is actually quite useful. First of all, it protects the table or other surface underneath the cup from heat, thus eliminating the need for a coaster. Next, it provides a convenient place for your teaspoon. And lastly, perhaps most important, a nice little cache for your tea-time cookie!
So please, folks, don't ditch all your cups and saucers. You never know when I might be coming to tea! ;-)
Monday, March 31, 2014
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Consider the lilies.
As you may know, we are in the process of selling our house and downsizing. This means taking the opportunity to get rid of as much as we can. It's easy to take things to the charity shops, but we'd also like to sell some stuff.
On the other hand, when people come to view our property, we have to be out.
So it happened that yesterday afternoon we went to a cafe not too far away for coffee and to pass the time. I picked up the March 2014 copy of 'O' magazine and, ta daa, lo and behold, it was all about decluttering! Not only that, but it mentioned some websites that are sure to be useful. It's so nice when help comes from unexpected sources. Gratitude, yeah.
Having our home in top shape for viewing has also meant that we made some changes. We used to have a mirror in our bedroom which is now hanging in the hall. I can't tell you how many times I've turned to the wall to check if I look okay and if my hair's tidy (thanks Dad). Instead I find myself staring at the painting of my eighteen-year-old self. I can tell you, it's a shock. But I'm sure it'll happen again tomorrow or the next day, 'cos habit is a very very very strong thing.
On the other hand, when people come to view our property, we have to be out.
So it happened that yesterday afternoon we went to a cafe not too far away for coffee and to pass the time. I picked up the March 2014 copy of 'O' magazine and, ta daa, lo and behold, it was all about decluttering! Not only that, but it mentioned some websites that are sure to be useful. It's so nice when help comes from unexpected sources. Gratitude, yeah.
Having our home in top shape for viewing has also meant that we made some changes. We used to have a mirror in our bedroom which is now hanging in the hall. I can't tell you how many times I've turned to the wall to check if I look okay and if my hair's tidy (thanks Dad). Instead I find myself staring at the painting of my eighteen-year-old self. I can tell you, it's a shock. But I'm sure it'll happen again tomorrow or the next day, 'cos habit is a very very very strong thing.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
A tree is a thing of wonder
Do you have a relationship with a particular tree or trees?
This morning I looked out my bedroom window across the road at a pair of pine trees and I realized how much I'll miss them when we move to our new home. Almost the hardest things to leave behind when we last moved were my two beloved birch trees, one that grew outside our kitchen, the other outside my writing room. They became such companions to me as I watched them through the four seasons: the catkins of spring, the tender green leaves and the way they'd quiver in the breeze, the golden pennies of autumn, the bare skeleton of the branches in winter, and always, always the beautiful bark.
There's already a spruce in our new front garden, but maybe I'll plant a birch in the back.
I've always been focussed more on the inner life than outer nature. Now, in this third age, I'm striving to redress the balance. Take the middle way, as it were. However, it was some twenty five or more years ago when I first developed a relationship with a tree. I had to spend ten days in hospital in Cape Town. My ward looked over the Main Road to Claremont public gardens, a place much favoured for wedding photographs. Directly opposite my window, though, grew a beautiful fir. As I lay for long hours, looking at the shape, the colour, the branches, the needles, something began to reach out and touch me, as it were. There was a kind of stirring in my soul. Yes, surely, a tree is a wonderful thing!
This morning I looked out my bedroom window across the road at a pair of pine trees and I realized how much I'll miss them when we move to our new home. Almost the hardest things to leave behind when we last moved were my two beloved birch trees, one that grew outside our kitchen, the other outside my writing room. They became such companions to me as I watched them through the four seasons: the catkins of spring, the tender green leaves and the way they'd quiver in the breeze, the golden pennies of autumn, the bare skeleton of the branches in winter, and always, always the beautiful bark.
There's already a spruce in our new front garden, but maybe I'll plant a birch in the back.
I've always been focussed more on the inner life than outer nature. Now, in this third age, I'm striving to redress the balance. Take the middle way, as it were. However, it was some twenty five or more years ago when I first developed a relationship with a tree. I had to spend ten days in hospital in Cape Town. My ward looked over the Main Road to Claremont public gardens, a place much favoured for wedding photographs. Directly opposite my window, though, grew a beautiful fir. As I lay for long hours, looking at the shape, the colour, the branches, the needles, something began to reach out and touch me, as it were. There was a kind of stirring in my soul. Yes, surely, a tree is a wonderful thing!
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Ah that Irish accent!
Years ago my husband had a colleague who was Irish. Occasionally I'd find him on the end of the line when I answered the phone (no cell phones in those days!), and I'd do my best to keep him talking because that Irish lilt in his voice was music to my ears. There's a kind of liquidity to the consonants that is so appealing.
I know that accents vary greatly on this North American continent of ours, but I have to wonder if the general American accent derives quite largely from the Irish. Of course there are other factors at work, what I would call etheric geography, that influence the way we speak. I found it interesting that the New Zealanders flatten their 'e's in much the same way as South Africans.
But recently I've been wondering about why the Americans say 'ass' when referring to their rear end, rather than 'arse' as the English do. I saw both of these written recently and was reminded of my dad. 'Arse' was considered an impolite word when I was a child. He used to sing a silly song:
'Ask your mother for sixpence to see the tall giraffe
With a pimple on his nose and a pimple on his...
Ask your mother...' etc.
So I guess this splitting came about because Americans use the short 'a' rather than the longer 'ah'. My mother's Irish/Scottish roots had her saying 'dancing', whereas my dad used to take me to 'dahncing'.
Now, somewhat to my distress, our American/English language seems to be going in yet another direction. That is, people say 'ay' for the indefinite article. Like, "I'm now going to drink ay cup of coffee". I think that makes you sound like an ass. And this time I mean a donkey!!
I know that accents vary greatly on this North American continent of ours, but I have to wonder if the general American accent derives quite largely from the Irish. Of course there are other factors at work, what I would call etheric geography, that influence the way we speak. I found it interesting that the New Zealanders flatten their 'e's in much the same way as South Africans.
But recently I've been wondering about why the Americans say 'ass' when referring to their rear end, rather than 'arse' as the English do. I saw both of these written recently and was reminded of my dad. 'Arse' was considered an impolite word when I was a child. He used to sing a silly song:
'Ask your mother for sixpence to see the tall giraffe
With a pimple on his nose and a pimple on his...
Ask your mother...' etc.
So I guess this splitting came about because Americans use the short 'a' rather than the longer 'ah'. My mother's Irish/Scottish roots had her saying 'dancing', whereas my dad used to take me to 'dahncing'.
Now, somewhat to my distress, our American/English language seems to be going in yet another direction. That is, people say 'ay' for the indefinite article. Like, "I'm now going to drink ay cup of coffee". I think that makes you sound like an ass. And this time I mean a donkey!!
Monday, March 17, 2014
Wearing the Green
Yes, I'll be wearing my pin-tucked, Banana Republic emerald-green silk blouse today in honour of St. Patrick. Such an interesting saint, don't you think?
It was around 1990 when I paid my one and only visit to Ireland. On arrival at Cork airport, I discovered I had a couple of hours to wait before I could catch the bus to Dunvegan, where my elder son would be waiting for me... I hoped!
There I saw many pamphlets available with offers to help you find your Irish ancestors. That was the moment I realized something that had hardly entered my consciousness before: 'Hey, my great-grandfather was Irish.' So that was why my grandmother used to exclaim 'Thank the Pope!' when she was grateful and relieved, even though she was brought up by a strictly Calvinistic step-mother!!
We spent a wonderful weekend. The weather was kind and we were able to tour around a bit. The air was kind of tingly and I felt as if at any minute I might perceive a leprechaun peeping at me from around one of those low stone walls. That made me think about how many of the Irish are naturally clairvoyant, and wonder too if that's why many of them are famous drinkers. We know from Rudolf Steiner that drinking alcohol can kill clairvoyance. Both my mother and my grandmother were somewhat clairvoyant, and they both had a tendency towards alcohol which they fortunately managed to control.
My only regret about that magical weekend was that we didn't get to go to the pub and enjoy some traditional Irish fiddling! And no, in case you're interested, as a rule I don't drink.
It was around 1990 when I paid my one and only visit to Ireland. On arrival at Cork airport, I discovered I had a couple of hours to wait before I could catch the bus to Dunvegan, where my elder son would be waiting for me... I hoped!
There I saw many pamphlets available with offers to help you find your Irish ancestors. That was the moment I realized something that had hardly entered my consciousness before: 'Hey, my great-grandfather was Irish.' So that was why my grandmother used to exclaim 'Thank the Pope!' when she was grateful and relieved, even though she was brought up by a strictly Calvinistic step-mother!!
We spent a wonderful weekend. The weather was kind and we were able to tour around a bit. The air was kind of tingly and I felt as if at any minute I might perceive a leprechaun peeping at me from around one of those low stone walls. That made me think about how many of the Irish are naturally clairvoyant, and wonder too if that's why many of them are famous drinkers. We know from Rudolf Steiner that drinking alcohol can kill clairvoyance. Both my mother and my grandmother were somewhat clairvoyant, and they both had a tendency towards alcohol which they fortunately managed to control.
My only regret about that magical weekend was that we didn't get to go to the pub and enjoy some traditional Irish fiddling! And no, in case you're interested, as a rule I don't drink.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
The Bright Side
Preparing our home for selling has meant that we've done our spring cleaning. Yay! And man, does that feel good. However, it strikes me as a strange thing, that the more meticulously you get into all those neglected corners and crannies, the more aware you become of where the dirt lurks. I'm seeing places that never entered my consciousness before. For instance, with my trusty lambswool duster in hand, I went into our two bathrooms and powder room to dust the top of the four big round globes (Fat Alberts to the cognoscenti) that form the 'light' part of their light fixtures. This was yesterday. Today I go into the bathroom and realize I neglected the shiny metal strip that anchors them.
Ah well, I wielded my trusty lance again and dust was gone.
Then there's the off loading. I did mention a downsize, didn't I? But truly, I've been horrified at the amount of stuff we've been shipping off to the thrift stores, charity shops for my UK readers, op shops (as in 'opportunity') for those in New Zealand. Now I have to tell you that, before we left South Africa I went through our home three times. It looks as if I'll have to do the same thing again.
I guess the thing is that although we enter this earthly world with nothing, and leave it with nothing, in between we.... accumulate. There must be a bell curve to this, or some other diagram. It's easy to see why we have more things when we're in the young family stage and teenager stage and young adult stage. I still have books from when our children were young, and still find it causes me a pang to get rid of the old favourites. Luckily a few of them can go to the grandsons. The rest, I hope, will bring enjoyable reading to some other, unknown, children.
And now, dear readers, I'm off to create some of that 'enjoyable reading'. I hope!
Ah well, I wielded my trusty lance again and dust was gone.
Then there's the off loading. I did mention a downsize, didn't I? But truly, I've been horrified at the amount of stuff we've been shipping off to the thrift stores, charity shops for my UK readers, op shops (as in 'opportunity') for those in New Zealand. Now I have to tell you that, before we left South Africa I went through our home three times. It looks as if I'll have to do the same thing again.
I guess the thing is that although we enter this earthly world with nothing, and leave it with nothing, in between we.... accumulate. There must be a bell curve to this, or some other diagram. It's easy to see why we have more things when we're in the young family stage and teenager stage and young adult stage. I still have books from when our children were young, and still find it causes me a pang to get rid of the old favourites. Luckily a few of them can go to the grandsons. The rest, I hope, will bring enjoyable reading to some other, unknown, children.
And now, dear readers, I'm off to create some of that 'enjoyable reading'. I hope!
Saturday, March 15, 2014
I'm glad I'm not an art director.
We're selling our house. And yes, the 'stager' came and gave us a consultation. Actually, a very lovely lady and she made excellent suggestions. The only trouble is, I'm now feeling like an old Flanders And Swann song, 'We're terribly House and Garden at number 7B'. Years ago we saw their witty show in London (whatever happened to witty? Do we find it anywhere today? Just asking...)
I tried to find this song on youtube, but you can only listen to it here, at around the 6 mark
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dCdshepGguI. The first ditty was certainly apt during the years we lived in London, so you might enjoy giving that a listen as well.
Anyhow, the punch line of the first mentioned song is: 'We actually live at number 7A, In the house next door!'
Not that we live with our neighbours, friendly though they are. It's simply that our house looks as if no-one lives here and that feels kind of weird. Also, I kind of resent putting energy into making everything look 'just so', and the weird thing is, the more I do it, the more details I notice that need attending to. Fiddling can take up quite a bit of time, but let's hope that'll all be worth it in the end.
Excuse me now, I'm off to straighten, maybe even comb, the fringe of that rug over there...
I tried to find this song on youtube, but you can only listen to it here, at around the 6 mark
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dCdshepGguI. The first ditty was certainly apt during the years we lived in London, so you might enjoy giving that a listen as well.
Anyhow, the punch line of the first mentioned song is: 'We actually live at number 7A, In the house next door!'
Not that we live with our neighbours, friendly though they are. It's simply that our house looks as if no-one lives here and that feels kind of weird. Also, I kind of resent putting energy into making everything look 'just so', and the weird thing is, the more I do it, the more details I notice that need attending to. Fiddling can take up quite a bit of time, but let's hope that'll all be worth it in the end.
Excuse me now, I'm off to straighten, maybe even comb, the fringe of that rug over there...
Friday, March 7, 2014
With a little help from a stranger
We're spring cleaning, also with a view to putting our house on the market. Now, usually we buy eco-friendly products, but after six years our white kitchen cupboards were in need of something stronger. So my husband set off for the supermarket to see what he could find.
In the cleaning products aisle he came upon a woman. She had opened a washing product and was holding the plastic bottle under her nose.
"Whatever you do, don't drink that!" My husband joked.
So she explained she was simply checking the scent.
He wandered a bit further and stood staring at the confusion of bottles. She came back.
"Can I help you? You look lost?"
"You're right about that."
Well, she advised on the right kind of sponge to use, one that wouldn't scratch. Then she plucked a product off the shelves.
"This is what you need," she said, and opened it and thrust the bottle under my husband's nose.
He recoiled and exhorted, "Whatever you do, don't squeeze!"
They had a good chuckle.
Anyhow, her recommendations worked a charm. Thanks lady!
In the cleaning products aisle he came upon a woman. She had opened a washing product and was holding the plastic bottle under her nose.
"Whatever you do, don't drink that!" My husband joked.
So she explained she was simply checking the scent.
He wandered a bit further and stood staring at the confusion of bottles. She came back.
"Can I help you? You look lost?"
"You're right about that."
Well, she advised on the right kind of sponge to use, one that wouldn't scratch. Then she plucked a product off the shelves.
"This is what you need," she said, and opened it and thrust the bottle under my husband's nose.
He recoiled and exhorted, "Whatever you do, don't squeeze!"
They had a good chuckle.
Anyhow, her recommendations worked a charm. Thanks lady!
Thursday, March 6, 2014
The drawbacks of being in the third age (for a writer!)
At the moment I'm busy writing a novella to publish soon after I get my two new contemporary, chicklitty romances up as ebooks. For this post, the key word is 'contemporary' because it's important for my writing vocabulary to stay current. This is not so easy to achieve, simply because I don't hang out with many twenty and thirty year olds!
My big dilemma right now is an adjective I have close to the beginning of my story... a vital place because that's where I want to draw readers in and not put them off. So I describe a bar as 'trendy'. But now I'm agonizing and asking advice as to whether this works or not. I was going to substitute 'popular', but that conveys a crowded venue and I'm not sure that's right for the situation.
In general, I delight in overhearing new vernacular expressions and terms. The best times were where when I used to ride the bus in Brighton. My ears would be flapping! I suppose there's a deeper explanation of the fact that language is constantly changing and this is, surely, proof that we as human beings are constantly evolving. Let's just pray we're going in the right direction!
My big dilemma right now is an adjective I have close to the beginning of my story... a vital place because that's where I want to draw readers in and not put them off. So I describe a bar as 'trendy'. But now I'm agonizing and asking advice as to whether this works or not. I was going to substitute 'popular', but that conveys a crowded venue and I'm not sure that's right for the situation.
In general, I delight in overhearing new vernacular expressions and terms. The best times were where when I used to ride the bus in Brighton. My ears would be flapping! I suppose there's a deeper explanation of the fact that language is constantly changing and this is, surely, proof that we as human beings are constantly evolving. Let's just pray we're going in the right direction!
Monday, March 3, 2014
Benefit and blessing of being in the third age
These days, most days, I enjoy the luxury of waking up slowly. That is, I don't have to spring out of bed and get ready for the day job. In fact, I find my writing day can be inspired by thoughts and insights that come to me after I've enjoyed my early-morning cup of tea -- courtesy of my beloved husband.
But apart from musings, sometimes songs and music come to mind. For instance, when I was still half asleep this morning, I got 'Beyond the blue horizon'. And yes, the dawn sky was indeed blue, with a touch of pink to blush it up a bit.
Later, as I gazed out the window at the bare branches of the maple tree, what floated into my mind was 'The Rustle of Spring' by Christian Sinding... although I hadn't registered that the branches were swaying slightly.
Take a listen:
Where that came from, I have no idea. It zoomed me back into my childhood. In those days, many of our friends had pianos, and this was a popular piece to play. I'm sure my cousin Pam used to play it for me so I could dance around, improvising. It was a popular piece for ballet. I saw it at an eistedfodd I took part in once. No, I didn't win. I did, however, enjoying being a 'firefly', and specially loved my short tutu, orange, and shot through with gold threads!
So I'm wondering, is it just me? And where and why do these bits of music come into my mind?
But apart from musings, sometimes songs and music come to mind. For instance, when I was still half asleep this morning, I got 'Beyond the blue horizon'. And yes, the dawn sky was indeed blue, with a touch of pink to blush it up a bit.
Later, as I gazed out the window at the bare branches of the maple tree, what floated into my mind was 'The Rustle of Spring' by Christian Sinding... although I hadn't registered that the branches were swaying slightly.
Take a listen:
Daniel Sabbah plays Sinding Rustle of spring - YouTube
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-StHeHGyakY
Where that came from, I have no idea. It zoomed me back into my childhood. In those days, many of our friends had pianos, and this was a popular piece to play. I'm sure my cousin Pam used to play it for me so I could dance around, improvising. It was a popular piece for ballet. I saw it at an eistedfodd I took part in once. No, I didn't win. I did, however, enjoying being a 'firefly', and specially loved my short tutu, orange, and shot through with gold threads!
So I'm wondering, is it just me? And where and why do these bits of music come into my mind?
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