WHY BLAME MERCURY?

 

Don't you sometimes feel a bit sorry and sad for Mercury? The planet who, while 'retrograde' is blamed for oh so much? when he's not really  moving backward, only apparently so?

And what's up with causing a problem with buying new electronics, or signing a contract? Huh? Can someone please 'splain!

But anyhow, in general, I'm in favour of Mercury. Who wouldn't be when he's my ruling planet — movement, communication? That's me!!

(not to mention the shopping...)

Words, words, words

Maybe you've seen that recent clip of Stephen Fry when he goes on a  spree, asking for us to use words that are juicy and jolly, extravagant and extraordinary, in all the glory of English. It's worth finding if you can, especially as this is contrary to what the prose trend has been for at least twenty (more like thirty??) years now i.e. sparse prose, immediate prose has been in fashion. Maybe this started with Ernest Hemingway, but I don't know. Personally, I tend to write more lushly and then have to trim back.

But I was thinking, there are so many subtleties. For instance, yesterday I watched the last act of 'The Marriage of Figaro', streamed live from the Royal Opera House Covent Garden. What if we simply called Mozart's opera 'Figaro's Marriage'? It wouldn't have quite the same cachet, would it? This, Marriage of Figaro, apart from the direct translation 'Le Nozze di Figaro' just has more of a ring to it, more of a rhythm. And that's what I like! How about you?

Well hello there!!!

I finally figured out how to get back into my Blogger account after someone who shall be nameless and blameless, logged me out. Now my plan is to pick it up again to share some random thoughts.

It seems I'm finally and fully back into my writing mojo. After the death of my husband my muse was somewhat elusive, but spring has sprung, snow is melting, sap is rising. So here I am.... back!!

Stay tuned (as they say).

Words and expressions

I'm always intrigued by new expressions and words that come into the English language... and thus to our consciousness.

So how about 'done and dusted'? I have the impression that this started in the UK. It's certainly spreading. But surely they've got that the wrong way around? My mother always said the dusting had to happen first, and then the vacumming or sweeping or whatever. Don't you think?

Now the other item that's on my mind is the word 'woke'. First seen on a facebook post via a member of the (much) younger generation, I still am not sure what it means. Obviously, it's gaining some agency (as they say... another spreading expression!) because I saw on The Guardian website that the recent pop concert weekend at Glastonbury has been deemed 'the most woke' ever!! It's definitely a compliment of some kind.

And while we're in the realm of Glastonbury, I'm remembering its connection with King Arthur and the stories of the Grail. Clearly it's a place with special energies, but how is all that modern music affecting them?

I shall continue to ponder.

TUNING IN TO TULIP TIME!

Tulips seems to be blooming better than ever this year. I wonder why. Do you think perhaps it has to do with that long, cold winter we endured? Really, despite the advances and miracles of modern science, how little do we know about growth forces and what impacts what.

After a sunny morning admiring the blooms, beds and colours of this year's Tulip Fest, I suddenly got the idea to send a few photos to my oldest and dearest friend, back in Cape Town. If you want tulips in your South African garden you need to plant new bulbs every year, so that's not something that's done on any kind of a grand scale.

My friend emailed me back almost straight away. This is what she wrote:

'Your marvellous pictures of the tulips arrived as if in response to a most irrational need for a chat with you! An angel brought them and I felt so happy - the exquisite colours, your dear face, the unexpected closeness to you all of a sudden! '

Sometimes it's good to take notice of what flies into your mind!

Now, perhaps you'd like to view a few flowers? Well, take a look...

Approach to Christmas

This morning my husband and I sat down to breakfast: grapefruit and then that traditional South African porridge 'Maltabella', made out of sorghum, the old traditional African grain, now eclipsed by corn, to the impoverishment of the soil and all that entails. All four advent candles were lit, outside snowflakes were falling, gently wafting down onto the spruce tree, the birdfeeder and the ground. Inside Handel's Messiah was playing on the radio... a truly beautiful recording. And so I sensed the approach of Christmas, the first of the thirteen Holy Nights, and the birth of the Child.

With the cold weather and snow of the past week, outings have been minimal. Perhaps it was this quiet time that brought the space I needed in order to experience the season, and I'm grateful for that.

I'm also grateful to Radio 2, the French program. Saturday and Sunday mornings I tune in, in order to have some classical music as accompaniment to breakfast preparation. But this morning it felt kind of ironic, listening to the English words of 'The Messiah' on the French program. Nevertheless, once again, I was grateful.

Escape to nostalgia, anyone?

'Five of the World's Sunniest Cities' goes the BBC website travel headline. From deep in my heart comes the whisper: "Johannesburg." And sure enough, the article features the place of my happy, golden childhood years.

I remember waking to a kiss of sunshine every morning (or so it seemed); venturing out to spend time in the garden whenever I wanted... unless there was the drama of a thunderstorm and/or cloudburst to clear the air; riding my bike to school on sparkly, frosty winter mornings that melted into midday warmth... Ah yes.

I've heard it said that, because of the mining on the gold reef, everyone breathes in homeopathic doses of aurum. Perhaps that's why Johannesburgers have the well-earned reputation of being friendly, the local populace cheerful.

Which I am not, right now.

On this April morning when the temperature at 7 a.m. reads minus ten, I'm dreaming of moving to warmer climes, where spring, perhaps, comes when it should. I think of my father-in-law, who, at the age of seventy, decided he wanted to return to the country of his youth... England. And I'm beginning to understand this longing, although, climate-wise, my father-in-law's switch would not have been advantageous. Nevertheless he had a few years of enjoying life in the depths of the Devonshire countryside, surrounded by pastoral bliss. Plus, of course, being immersed once again in that special and stimulating English sensibility.

And there, for me, lies the rub if I think of returning to South Africa. Sunshine and friends, yes, but what about the culture (in the general sense of the word)? Here in the northern hemisphere I've grown accustomed to being in the thick of things as it were. Meanwhile South Africa has moved on - in both good and bad ways.

So I'll hang tight for the time being and trust that April is almost done being so cruel.

Greetings

Well, sorry folks... that was a bust. For some unknown reason my laptop lost all my already-deleted-on-camera tree photos and now it's too late because I'm elsewhere. Sure, there are trees in this neighbourhood, but they're not quite so interesting although often lovely... like the prunus that are in full flower.

To tell the truth, I think those techy gremlins didn't like the idea of my next planned post, where I wanted to share with you how this one particular tree, as I walked by it on a hot day, invited me 'Come share my shade'. The words sounded in my mind so subtly, but nevertheless undeniable. And I was happy to do exactly that.

What I started thinking about (apart from trees!) as I walked around the block was how the neighbours and the gardeners and the construction workers greeted me. The usual form was 'hello'. 'Hi' seems to be out of favour right now, as does the spelling I like to use, which is 'hallo' with an 'a'. Without going to the dictionary to discover the etymology, I like to think that we're saying 'hail oh', especially as local vernacular in South Africa uses the word 'ou' for a person. In the UK, however, 'hi' has now added a syllable and the normal, colloquial greeting is 'hiya'.

That's it for now. Till next time, God be with you... i.e. 'goodbye'.

Trees I see

In summertime at home, as I ride my bike through neighbourhood streets, I mentally greet each tree I pass. And so now, on these winter days when I'm lucky enough to h've escaped the snow and ice and am able to walk warmly around a California block, I absorb the sight of plane trees, gums, palms and many more. This made me think I'd like to share something of what I see with you. Here's the first photo, one of an extraordinary old plane, the first of several that I meet:

That horizontal branch is at least a foot in diametre, and at least ten feet long. These several trees remind me of a painting by Van Gogh that I had the privilege to see about eighteen months ago, although his trunks stand more perpendicular.

Here's a second pic, taken from the other side.

It's amazing what presence a tree can have, isn't it?

How did angels lose their colour and why?

This will be my last post until some time in January, always excepting if something flutters by and settles disturbingly or enchantingly in my brain!

Anyhow, those who know me well know that I love to visit museums and art galleries. Usually I like to buy a couple of postcards as a memento... they're so reasonably priced and every now and then I take a look through my collection... or part of it!

At this Advent tide, I've been looking at angels, also inspired by the Twitter trend #angeltrail. I also enjoyed the Text Santa Downton Abbey spoof. In that, one of my heroes Joanna Lumley (so gorgeous) appears all dressed in white, with white wings, as an angel.

Going through my cards this morning I found this one 'A Choir of Angels' Simon Marmion (active 1449, died 1489) from the National Gallery in London:

So full of colour, aren't they? And as I recall, most angels up till the Renaissance at least, wore colourful robes and sported colourful wings. Probably some art buff (maybe my son-in-law Richard Ian Heys.. I'll have to ask him) would be able to tell me at what point in our history angels came to be white, but I have to wonder 'why'. Any thoughts?

Monday moan day

Not about life, you'll be glad to know, but once again about words and how they're increasingly being used. Or, in my book, abused.

First of all, I'm busy revising a teen novel intended for the North American audience. This means that I'm slaying 's's, in particular all those that go forwards and backwards and towards. These need to read forward, backward and toward. Why that is, I have no idea. Who decreed this to be standard usage? I note the trend in texts from the UK too, so have to think American colonialism is spreading ;-)

Another trend I've noticed while we're on this spot is the use of 'forward' instead of 'foreword'. I note that if I spell the latter without a middle 'e' my spell check changes to forward. Hey folks, the two are different.

So.

Now another usage that distresses me (chill, Brenda, chill) is the splitting of cannot into can not. It struck me that spell check might be the culprit, but it seems that isn't the case. Now I ask you, don't you think it's kind of contradictory when someone writes 'can' and then straight away 'not'?

Okay. Got that off my mind. To compensate for the rant, here's a cute story for you. My friend Heidi's mother, after living here for years, is still more German than Canadian.  Heidi taught her small dog a trick. She'd say 'Chill, Charlie, chill'. Whereupon he'd cast himself to the floor, and lie sideways and still. Wishing to replicate this, Heidi's mom commanded 'Freeze, Charlie freeze', complete with guttural 'r'. To her disappointment, Charlie only cocked his head and looked at her with a puzzled expression!

Running Errands

As I write my companion novel to 'Cape Town' I'm putting myself back in the South Africa of the late '80s. To my surprise I find, on going over newly-written pages, that sometimes I slip into a more modern, North American idiom.

Having said that, today I'd like to explore a phrase, in common usage here, that's seldom heard in SA or the UK. This is, running errands, as in: "I need to run some errands today".

So, what are those of us across the pond or down at the tip of Africa more likely to say? Well, the probability is that we'd be more specific. "I'm off to the post office", say, or my daughter in England would inform "I'm just nipping out to the coop" (i.e. the Co-op mini market). Add on the library, or whatever.

This means that the whole concept of going off to run some errands carries a different connotation for me. I'm influenced by the fact that the French verb 'errer' means to wander. Nice thought, hey? Also, think about an errant knight... He's not erring, or maybe he is?? So there's the possibility to err as well.

I think that 'running errands' somehow leaves you delightfully free. I intend to adopt that phrase in future!

A Moving Anniversary...

... not the kind that involves people, but houses.

A few minutes ago I was thinking with a touch of longing about our old car wash i.e. where we used to go so that the Golf looked clean and shiny. Seriously. The gas station was close by, it was familiar, it was good; and even ethical, in that the car wash closed down for a while when there was a water shortage in the area, which others, owned by larger oil companies, did not.

The thing is, I haven't yet adjusted my mindset to going elsewhere. And I'm thinking these kinds of old habits take time to let go. As I said in my last post, we moved about a year ago. We have (mostly) grown used to doing our grocery shopping in new stores, with unfamiliar set ups, but that wasn't so easy. Took time. To me these are the unexpecteds when you move to a different area.

On the other hand, I also like to shake things up a bit around the house. So I don't always sit in the same chair in the living room, but choose another or the couch from time to time. A couple of months ago, my husband and I swapped places at the dining table. Soon it will again be time to try a new view!

De-Cluttering?

Are you embracing this latest trend and decluttering by any chance? My husband and I downsized a year ago and offloaded quite a few possessions. That felt fine, and I'll soon be sorting a few more things and items of clothing to go out the door. Not that I don't regret the loss of a couple of the latter, but still... I think I read somewhere that you are likely to regret 20% of what you throw out.

Ah well.

So I was thinking... How bare do you want to go? Or shall we rather say, how stark? When I put my mind back into friends' houses that bring me the most pleasure, I have to say that you could probably consider them fairly cluttered. To some extent, the amount of leeway probably depends on the size of the dwelling-space. But even then... an artist friend of mine who lives in a small bungalow always has lots of decorative 'stuff' around, and I love it. Being in her home is a true delight.

Perhaps therein lies the clue. If the clutter actually beautifies, adds to a homely setting, then surely it's justified? Decorative items, books, framed photos, intentionally and meaningfully chosen, emanate a certain atmosphere that can be uplifting.

Always supposing you're willing to spend more time dusting!

Artist's date: the Van Gogh film

Anyone who follows or has followed (I did!) Julia Camerons' 'The Artist's Way' will know the concept of an artist's date, when you go out to seek inspiration, new perceptions, whether they be in nature or art forms other than the one you practice.

So, last week my daughter-in-law invited me to go with her and a friend to see the Van Gogh documentary 'A New Way of Seeing'. Great title, right? I decided to dress for the occasion and wear something appropriate, around my neck that is.

This is one end i.e. half the scarf.

Little things please little minds, hey?

Although I enjoyed the film, I have to say the promise of the title was left unfulfilled. The most interesting feature for me was to see and trace the places where Vincent was born, lived and worked. Views of various paintings were, of course, wonderful, eye-popping. But for me, not even a lit movie screen image can replace the experience of actually standing in front of one of his works. They have such presence. Wouldn't you agree?

Fringe and bang

My husband and I went to a concert last Wednesday, being big fans of listening to live classical music, although sometimes the more modern stuff can be interesting but somewhat painful to the ears and the soul. Anyhow, my husband was observing the musicians and in particular, one woman's hairstyle. He asked an interesting question to which I have absolutely no answer.

First of all he said, "What do they call a fringe here in North America?"
I answered, "Bangs."
"But why? How did that come about?"

For the life of me I could not bring any possible explanation to mind. And truly, this is one of the words I find more difficult to remember to use. I think my hairdresser is used to me by now, fortunately. In general though, I'm pretty well into the local vernacular. From time to time I remember how it was when we first arrived and how many confused stares I received... so unexpected, when I do speak English. Sometimes I thought it might make things simpler if I sounded more foreign, as if I were from Central or Eastern Europe for instance!

And now I'm trying to put myself back into the South Africanisms that I used before we emigrated. Yes, a new novel is on the way, also set in the time of the last days of apartheid and featuring a ballet student as its heroine.

And no, her hairstyle is traditional dancer and doesn't include a bang or a fringe!

The loss of 'one'.

This morning I was having an argument with someone in my head. Do you ever do that? It's kind of a useless exercise but my brain was doing its floating thing and sometimes that brings good ideas to the surface. So today I was imagining myself telling this particular person, 'You can't think like that'.

Uh oh. In today's world, you can't say those sorts of things. At least, I'd be very hesitant. But what to do? I thought how much better it would be if I could say 'one' instead, as in 'One can't think like that'. Less personal, so maybe more acceptable.

It strikes me that generally, everything has to be more personal these days. Maybe that has something to do with individuality (?) In any case, we are losing the use of 'one', even though this usage can sometimes be found in articles or essays that originate in England.

I find this a bit of a pity. But I need to keep up with the times, especially as a writer of fiction. And here the increase in the personal is marked. Writing advice encourages us to use what's known as 'third person deep point of view'. This means that everything is filtered through the eyes and experience of the main character. The reader very quickly engages, which is the big advantage.

I suppose we all have our natural perspective, for some of us closer than others. Mine, I have to confess, has always been somewhat distanced and that makes it difficult for me to write in this most modern way. I find it easier to use first person, but I'm trying to learn the technique. Luckily, although I might have thought about saying 'one', it never enters my head to actually do so!

Friendly mirrors

"I love this mirror." My dear aunt Katty said, regarding her reflection and tweaking her hairstyle.

She was visiting us in our South African 'cottage' i.e. holiday home by the sea.

I didn't see anything special about that particular mirror, although it was pretty enough, with its curlicued frame of white-painted wrought iron.

"Why?" I asked.

"'Cos it makes me look thinner."

I'd never thought of such a phenomenon, but ever since then I've occasionally come across mirrors that enhance or detract. Most recently, buying clothes on sale in an upmarket store I wondered if the owners had ever considered theirs. It's one of those establishments where you have to leave the cubicle in order to see how you look (hate that!). The three-way mirror is flawed and makes you (me) look like a dumpling. Not a good idea from the retail side.

Anyhow, I'm happy to tell you that the bathroom mirror in our new abode is a friendly one. This is nice because I can start off the day feeling good about myself. And, even though I don't subscribe to the idea that we should all be slim, but rather that we all have our optimum weight, whether it be on the thinner or fatter side, I like that.

Into the clothes closet

Are you a clothes hoarder? I don't mean, 'do you have too many in your closet', rather I mean this...

A couple of weeks ago my husband and I went to buy some clothes on the sales. So I got a couple of new pairs of jeans, a linen dress and a tee shirt type top. When we got home, I carefully put them away and doubt I'll wear any of them before next summer.

Meanwhile, my husband bought a light jacket, socks and two pairs of shorts. He's worn one of the latter, as well as the socks and the jacket... that was, after I'd cut off the labels and thrown them in the paper recycling.

So I was wondering... What's that all about? Why do I keep the new things rather than wearing them? I suspect this has to do with living in South Africa. During the days when my mother was still alive and we used to meet for morning coffee and shopping every Tuesday (so very glad we did that! They were special times.) we used to buy some imported clothes. Now, if you think about it, we were in the Southern Hemisphere so the seasons didn't tally. This meant buying garments and not being able to wear them for quite a few months.

What I discovered then was this: there's something rather delicious about knowing you have something new and nice to wear, just waiting patiently in the closet. So I guess that's when I acquired the habit of being a closet hoarder.

How about you?

On moving in

Our new abode is feeling like it's our home... pretty much. Even though we got things in order pretty quickly, the soul stuff still takes time, you know? One problem of course is that you unpack, put things away, but the cupboards, shelves and drawers are different and you can't find anything! Then there are the items that go missing....

This happened to our bread knife.

Why bother with a bread knife? I hear you ask. Well see, we like different size slices and often find the ready-sliced bread too thick. But more than that, whether it's my imagination or not, I think bread Tastes different when it's been machine-sliced. Hand-sliced feels better.

Maybe I've mentioned our dear late friend Jeanne Malherbe, she who was the pioneer bio-dynamic farmer in the Cape, South Africa. She made wonderful, healthy bread but she also did something I envied, she could hold a loaf and cut it towards her heart. Isn't that special?

Anyhow, I digress. Our bread knife went missing. I knew it was unpacked on the day we moved in because I saw it lying on the kitchen counter, thus...

Now, I hope you'll agree this is a special kind of bread knife. It would be hard to find a replacement, let alone that this belonged to my mother and so the sentimental value is huge... I can think of her each time I hold it in my hand. Anyhow, I went off in search of a new one, and was put off by the price.

So we made do. My husband sliced the bread with the ham knife as well as he could. Two months went by. Then one day it was raining when we needed to leave the house. I opened the hall closet and patted the top shelf, looking for my small folding umbrella. Something metal moved under my fingers... and lo and behold, there was the knife!

My husband must have used it in the hall for opening one or two or three of the packing boxes and placed it up there, out of the way.

In any case, thank you dear house spirits. I'm glad you're becoming friendly towards these new intruders.... I mean, occupants.