Christmas Blessings

This is quite a nostalgic moment. I sit here on the edge of my bed, while Michael sleeps. I need to upload some pictures off my camera and phone and thought it a good idea just to add them to my now almost non-existent blog. I am not even going to make any resolutions about blogging for 2016.

For now, I am savouring the moment. The house is starting to stir and Gareth and Hayley, Matt, Steve, Caroline and Dale will be leaving us to join their partner's families for their Christmas celebration.

I know how special these times of all being together are. We chatted last night about our previous themed Christmas Eve parties, going back many years and the people who have come and gone (some more permanently than others). My mom is amazing and manages to stay strong at these times. She had a cousin who passed away yesterday and a very close friend who she heard was in ICU. 

It was Matthew's idea to get away for Christmas and what a great one it was. For him to split himself at home between his family and to try and spend quality time with everybody would have been impossible. Here we have all been able to share ourselves, whether playing fuseball, walking on the beach or standing stirring sauces at the stove. Awesome times and lasting memories.

Clyde Amy and Kim

Test kitchen

Hayley and Amy

Fuseball

Sundowners and Eggnog on the balcony

Three Stooges

Mom and her grandchildren

Dalene  Haylz and I

All the ladies (Kim had gone home yesterday)

Moved the furniture around a bit

Me and my Muskateers

This Nigella Lemon Curd Pavlova from our test kitchen needed a picture

The Vans

Mom and the Sisters

Dale, Steve and Caroline 

 The fuseball contest

Looking forward

Alfie having a chat with Haylz

Sunsets

Quiet times

Cocktails on tap

And of course Alfie

Let me go now. Time to share a last cup of tea on the stoep and load up the cars. We are here until tomorrow.

Happy Christmas to you all.

I could not resist this one. 

Who reads a book on a Friday night? ME...

A few years ago spending a Friday night at home reading would have made me feel like a total loser. Not anymore.

This picture on Facebook this morning got me thinking and after this evening has matched my thoughts, exactly:-

And, it was quite appropriate because last night I picked up H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald again. I had started reading it a few months ago, but it is a slow read and I lent it to a friend (who was going away and who I knew would enjoy it). She has now returned it and I re-visited it this evening. It is a very different read and a book that you need to savour. Macdonald's writing and sentence structure are beautiful. I love the way she uses commas, and the way she keeps changing the length of her sentences. So clever.

There are many sentences and lines in this book and I am reading it, like I might Pat Conroy’s The Prince of Tides, slowly and staring at the wall (for a minute). It is my all-time favourite and the one book I have read far more than twice. 

Here, please read this paragraph:-

“Her library would have been valuable to a bibliophile except she treated her books execrably. I would rarely open a volume that she had not desecrated by underlining her favourite sections with a ball-point pen. Once I had told her that I would rather see a museum bombed than a book underlined, but she dismissed my argument as mere sentimentality. She marked her books so that stunning images and ideas would not be lost to her.” 
― Pat Conroy, The Prince of Tides

I have never done it, but I am tempted to start underlining some sentences in this book … His coat. An envelope. His watch. His shoes. And when we left, clutching a plastic bag with his belongings….

Oh my word…

Ten years doesn't make a summer?

An invitation to my nearly 17 year-younger baby brother's 40th birthday has time travelled me back to almost exactly 10 years ago. As I am thinking "Could ten years have really gone by so fast?", I am also thinking "How can so much have happened and changed in the last ten years?"

May 2005

David (the brother) was about to turn 30. Always extravagant he sent air tickets for his mother and sisters to join him for his 30th birthday in London. 

Where was I?  Single, only Nic (middle son) home for the year, a wonderful man in my life and a steady job in a legal office.  The trip was special for all three of us but extra special for me because Gareth (my oldest) and Matthew (youngest) were both in the UK at the time.  I left Nic home alone with the dog and took advantage of my first overseas trip in years and was away for 5 weeks.  A special fun time, a road trip to Wales and the south of England. Ten days later, Dalene left for home to return to her two young daughters who were left with Tom, Rob (my mother's "man-friend") arrived to join her and they continued on their travels and my friend Nicky arrived for a crazy three weeks in London, Bristol and a Paddywagon tour through Ireland.

May 2015

David is turning 40 next week and is now married to the girl he first kissed around the time of his 30th birthday. I am now married to "the wonderful man", I still have only one of my three sons (Gareth) close by (Nic is in Johannesburg and Matthew in Hong Kong). Dalene and Tom live around the corner and, as I write, they are waving goodbye to Amy (their eldest) who is heading off to London for a month.  My mom is great, she married the "man-friend" Rob, they moved into a retirement complex but he died late last year after a short illness. And Nicky? Well Nicky just died. She was here making ginger soup one week, waved goodbye to me in Wayside Road and went away on a special family holiday. She never came back. I know she is dead, I gave a eulogy at her funeral and carried the coffin (for goodness sake) but she did just go away on holiday and never came back. I still have a drawer of photographs, coasters, postcards and mementos from May/June 2005. (We never did get around to having that "scrap booking" evening and it is now May 2015).

So, in a nutshell that is where I was in May 2005 and am now in 2015. So much has happened in between and as I think of the happiness's and sadness's in my 56 year old life, I realise that the puzzle pieces are starting to slot in and make up that cliched "bigger picture".

Material stuff

2005
Maybe because I did not have much I dreamt of that house on a hill with the wrap-around stoep, a trendy minimalistic interior, a heated swimming pool and a SMEG fridge. Although on a hectic budget, I still spoiled myself (put myself into debt) with a Clarins day and night cream and clothes from Hilton Weiner.

2015
I love and am so content my simple square home and garden in the heart of suburbia (on the flat) with a vibracrete (horror) fence.  It is filled to overflowing with photos, tins, candles and inherited furniture. A Defy fridge (it is metallic) serves me well.  A R200 tube of Environ Alpha Hydroxy gel is a day and night cream and lasts for two months and the few clothes there are come from Woolworths.

Career

2005
A job in a legal office with a decent salary and an amazingly awesome boss (my husband to be), lovely co-workers but a comfort zone of note, sitting behind a stuffy desk, days spent surfing the net, streaming music, writing blogs and then cramming in some real work and drafting of documents when the pressure was on.

2015
A new venture, marketing, selling and delivering wine with an enterprising and entertaining partner, not much salary (that will come) but a warehouse full of wine, my first brand new company van, loving the physical work, having time to walk every day, time on the road, stops at the beach, walking the grand-dog, meeting new people combined with lots of time on my own and generally having a great time.

Friendships

2005
Always fortunate to have special friends. We were infallible and maybe friendships were taken for granted as friends were always a phone call away (we had very long phone calls), they were there to laugh and cry with but mostly to party with.

2015
I am still lucky to have special friends but value them more. I appreciate that we are not infallible. Friends die, friends get sick. Friends are fighting battles with cancer and are caring for sick partners. They are strong and resolute and I am in awe. But after cancer, there is always an unspoken uneasiness and nervousness that hovers around the friendship, the elephant in the room that scares you as you never know where it is hiding and when it will show up again. But. as horrible as cancer is for the sufferer, it does give you time, as a friend, to show you care. Unlike when a special infallible friend goes away on holiday and never comes back. 

Motherhood

2005
I felt bad and sad that as a mother I had let my boys down because we no longer had the "normal" Rondebosch family. They did not get cars when they turned 18 (or 19 or 21 - we shared), they had to take out student loans as fees could not be paid and that fancy house on the hill with a SMEG fridge was still a dream.

I wanted the best for them, the degree, the first team, the best and prettiest girlfriends, to be the most likeable, funny and popular boys in the group.

2015
I know now that I did not let them down.  I know that there is no "normal" family and that our little family is a very special and extremely close one. I made the best choice at the time.

I still want the best for them but forget the degree, the house, car and f-ing fridge, I want them to be happy.  My worst parenting moment (they have many more they could share, I am sure) was telling Nic (then aged 25) who was wanting to go back to university to study law "What?  Nic you will be 28 when you graduate and all your friends will have fancy jobs, wives and children and you will be an articled clerk until you are 31!"  Well Nic is so happy being an articled clerk and not having a house, wife or children (not many of his friends do have any of the three anyway). Two of them do have the best and prettiest girlfriends and I think all three are the best, most likeable, funny and popular boys in the world (nevermind just the group).

Over the last ten years they have seldom all been home at the same time. It is hard having them far away, especially when the move becomes more permanent, but somehow it eventually becomes the norm. Thank goodness for Whatsapp, Skype and Facebook. You miss them lots, it is wonderful to have them home for visits, harder when they have to leave again but as a mother I can handle anything when I know they are happy. 

Love

2005
Michael - my boss, best friend turned boyfriend - sane, stable, solid and steady. The easiest and most loving relationship I have ever had. He is trying to teach me to budget, to not owe money and he tries to show me how to get pleasure and appreciate the simple things in life (like finding a perfect screw in a gutter)

2015
Still Michael - no longer my boss, still my best friend and now my husband - Still sane, stable, solid and steady. The easiest, best, most loving relationship I will ever have. He has taught me how to get pleasure out of the simple things in life (not only screws in gutters) but he still struggles with teaching me to budget.

Then and Now
Life is good, never perfect, I struggle these days to not be so verbal about the things that upset me. Before I could keep my mouth shut when things annoyed me. I now blurt things out and sometimes hurt people but it is my inner voice that maybe menopause has stoked. 
  
Ten years ago life was very different and ten years later I don't feel like a much different person but writing this has made me realise that a decade is a long time. It is the sad things that have happened to me and my family which have shaped me most and made me take stock. I now realise what is important and what is not. Family and friends and walks and swims and wine and kindness and talking and sharing and even screws in gutters.

I also have to confess that I really would still love a big pastel coloured SMEG fridge.

january - first page of the new book

What a day in Cape Town! It started early with a walk from Kalk Bay to Fish Hoek with Nicky, a swim at Dalebrook, my first taste of a C'est la Vie cinnamon twist and a strong black Americano. A quick swim in Nicky's pool and back home to get some cleaning chores and Wine Time work done.

Now here I sit at the computer downloading some photographs for my new email and at the same time eating a packet of Lays crisps and drinking my first beer of the year.  It must be 35 degrees outside and not conducive to working. It still feels like holiday time.

Starting my new diary last week made me realise that it is important to set some goals for 2015.

There are many things I do want to do this year and these are some scribblings that I have already made in my book.

To read more - I have already read two books this year. Ben Elton's - Two Brothers and JoJo Moyes - Me before You.  Both good reads and I have now started Paulo Coelho's Adultery.  Every January I start off like a train and then my reading fizzles out a bit. I will keep a log book of books read this year and try to read a bit every day.

To travel - Michael has a family reunion in Canada in August and we hope to travel to the UK and Scotland first. Michael is not the most adventurous traveller and a trip to Hermanus is far enough for him. We have procrastinated for too long, there will never be enough money, work commitments will always be there but last year I saw fit people die, friends battling cancer and others getting suddenly old and frail. Sometimes you just have to do things and not waste time waiting for the right time, saving and planning for the event.

To push myself harder in my business.  Things at Wine Time are going well but I am inclined to get myself into a comfort zone and wait for things to happen. Unfortunately (or fortunately) money does not motivate me but with travel on the cards, it would be good to increase our business database, get more customers and earn more money. The potential is all there and we have had a good year. Our warehouse is full and most of  the wines paid for, we have bought a brand new van for deliveries and we get so much positive feedback from our customers about our wines and service. For the first time I have a job that gives me time for myself and I am happy and content with what I am doing. Morning walks and swims and a job that is physically tiring and gets me out and about with a good balance of time alone and time with people. This makes me very happy.

To never miss a chance to swim in the sea. An old bathing costume and beach towel is a permanent fixture underneath my car seat.

To continue to explore my creative side. 

Art classes this year have been awesome and have taught me that everyone can draw and has their own style and flair. A lovely group of ladies getting together once a week, for a couple of hours, with pencils and wine is a wonderful way to end a day.

Gardening is something else I would like to do more of and learn more about. It must be one of the most rewarding hobbies to dig and plant and water and at the end create something that gives you so much pleasure.

To try my best not to spend money on unnecessary stuff. A sucker for grey and black t-shirts and vintage stuff for my kitchen and garden (which I do not have space for). Time to avoid the shops and make do with all the excess that I already have and give away what I do not need.

To keep walking and stay fit and strong. I could say lose 10kgs and cut back on the wine - BUT WHY? 

To visit new places close to home. Nicky has made a list of places in Cape Town that she wants to go to.  Dalebrooke this morning was one that she has now ticked on her list.  Driving home she told me about swimming in the Silvermine dam (which I have not done for 20 years) and how beautiful sitting on the verandah at Chart Farm is (can you believe that I have never been there?). So there are two more for my list. I will let you have my complete list next week.

Counting my blessings everyday. The bestest husband in the world, healthy and happy children all making new lives and careers for themselves, a healthy mother and an extra special family, so many wonderful friends, food and wine in the fridge and more grey t-shirts than any girl could ever want. I am blessed!!

It is indeed brave of me to publish this picture (hence the reason I have kept it small) but it is the only picture of the boys and I taken together this Christmas. 

It is a special one, taken in the rough seas on Boxing Day (on the day when I did not win the race into the water) of my three sons who are best mates and still little boys at heart and who give their mother much joy

just thinking stuff....

Tidying up and getting two rooms in order for two sons who have not been home for a while has been a job (and a half) and has led me on another "thought train" and discovery. 

Nic has been home a couple of times this year and is not that far away but Matthew has been away for two weeks short of a whole year! The longest I have ever not seen one of my boys. With time differences, Hong Kong seems very far away. Nic was away once for 10 months (without a sighting) and Gareth for two years (but with a few visits backwards and forwards). This is a not-so-nice family record.

Today while out on the road, my mind for some reason , went back five years. Back to what my niece Amy, then aged 13, shared with me about growing older. She was wishing that she could go back to when she was 12 and everything was different and her life was so easy and good. Her old school, her cousins and their different girlfriends, her crush on one of Matthew's rugby friends and the fact that Matthew was leaving Cape Town. These being a few of her many "sadnesses" at growing up. She was upset and was wishing very hard and wondering why don't go back to how they were, just one year ago.

They never do. Getting ready for the boys to arrive home brings with it the knowledge that things will never be the same. Things change and are not meant to be the same. We grow and we move on and start our own lives in our own homes and sometimes in new countries.

I tried to put myself in Amy's position 5 years ago. It was a purple patch where everybody was in Cape Town and our lives were full with family get-togethers, big meals, rugby matches and fun. Her cousins were always around, like older brothers and with so many friends, who also became a part of our family.

I started thinking back to my "olden days" and which days I would like to experience again. Things that I can't remember clearly anymore. I thought about, if I was given a chance to go back to a couple of days from my early life, in a time machine, which days would I choose?

Maybe just as once as a little girl, when my father and mother were still married. I don't remember that well. It must feature our house in Rosebank and both my grandmothers must come to visit. Dalene and I could play in our life-sized Wendy House, for which my grandfather had built and made all the furniture. That wonderful man must also please appear because I would love to hug him one more time. It is really weird how I can remember the smell of our neighbour Deidre's house and the pink overall and cap that her Nanny Anna used to wear. I remember the smells of her cooking as well and the details on their carved wooden staircase with two stories and a red carpet but I cannot remember my own bedroom much at all. I probably moved out of that house by the time I was 7 or 8.

Junior School? Not too memories there or any yearning to go back, except I do remember many of the teachers and pupils. I would love to be around for a break-time to remind myself who my friends were and what we chatted about. I lost touch with most of them when I left Junior School. They all went to the two other girls schools and off I went off to that school with the maroon checked uniform (and boys).

High School? Maroon days. Never really fitting in there but managed to develop a severe distraction and attraction to boys (and not forgetting my two forever best friends). I would love to go back in time and spend a double English class with either Mr Rumbol or Mr Horan. That is about all. 

Relationship days? Was I much the same person as what I am now? Did I make conversation easily? I don't think so. I would love to be able to observe myself at 18 and 19. I certainly know I was much less talkative. 

Wedding Day? I do remember the photographer arriving and I had a face-pack on my face and was in my bathing costume. That led to panic and the hairdresser handing me an Ativan to dissolve under my tongue. The rest of that day and night was a dream and I had to be poked by my bridesmaid to prompt me to finish my vows and not drift off to sleep. At least I was radiant in the photographs as I did not have the usual nervous, false smile. Maybe I should go back to see what it was all about.

Baby Days. I think these are probably the days I would most like to re-live. Just to experience one of those days again and this time to try harder to remember every detail. To check up on just how tired I was at times and how much Gareth really slept!! Photos help but they are a small part of the whole picture. What we did together? How did I feel? How did they talk and walk and smile and play together? Were they really that cute? (Maybe it is time to find the first video recordings of the early days - the one or two that did not have He-Man taped over them).

From turning 40 onwards, the boys and their school days and our Albion Road days are still very clear in my memory. No time-machine needed yet.

When do memories become nostalgia? Now that I am writing this and thinking a bit more deeply about this silly idea of a time-machine taking me back to the past to re-live days that I have already lived, enjoyed, messed up, been happy, been sad, been a shy school-girl, a student, a girl-friend, a mother.  Some of the above I still am and some I will never be again but all those events turned my life into what it is now.  Why would I want to go back and by watching, risk changing even one part of it.

Silly idea and best of all.....

3 more sleeps and we will all be together for Christmas!!

this is a story about....a door

 

Once upon a time there was a girl who lost much of her material possessions but was lucky to keep, love and nurture what was most important to her.

She found a new home which she loved. She had her own bedroom for the first time in her life. It was a dark and musty room but it had the most beautiful door. As in the story of Cinderella, her bedroom was also a door off the kitchen. At night when she could not sleep she found comfort in the light shining from the passage, through the warped glass panes, which reflected pretty patterns on her damp walls. The door was closed at night but she heard the comforting sounds of teenage boys playing music, laughing, telling stories, coming in late and trying to cook meals "silently" in the kitchen. 

Then this girl met a boy who rescued her from the dark and musty room. She moved to a new house which she made into a bright new home. She made a pretty garden and years later decided to change the entire garden. At the same time that she changed her garden, she remembered her old home which had recently had walls and doors knocked out. She remembered the old door which no longer had a home and was about to be taken to the dump.

"Oh Yeah!", she exclaimed, "I have the perfect spot for the door!!".

So she collected the door, painted a wall, nailed the door to the wall and now the Princess has her very own secret door in her new garden.

Of course, she lived happily ever after.

aunty syl's arms*

Weird things happen and link together in the most crazy way sometimes. This morning I woke up early and, as has become the norm, picked up my iPad to check emails, Facebook and the magazine section of the New Yorker. On Facebook, on the Brain Pickings page, I came upon this quote by Anne Lamott:-

"Trappings and charm wear off… Let people see you. Let them see that your upper arms are beautiful, soft and clean and warm, and then they will see this about their own, some of the time. It’s called having friends, choosing each other, getting found, being fished out of the rubble. It blows you away, how this wonderful event ever happened — me in your life, you in mine.

Two parts fit together. This hadn’t occurred all that often, but now that it does, it’s the wildest experience. It could almost make a believer out of you. Of course, life will randomly go to hell every so often, too. Cold winds arrive and prick you: the rain falls down your neck: darkness comes. But now there are two of you: Holy Moly."

Lovely words about friendship. However, it was the bit about the upper arms that made me smile.Yesterday afternoon, I was watering the garden. It was hot and I had taken off my loose denim shirt and was watering the garden in a sleeveless top. I was very hot. I came inside and started cooking (still in the vest). The doorbell rang. It was my sister. After buzzing the gate open and before opening the front door, I ran to grab my shirt (to cover my arms). How crazy is that? My sister who has known me all her life, has seen far more of me than just my slightly wobbly upper arms, had the upper arms hidden from her view. 

Where do these ideas about what we are supposed to look like come from? Why, now mid-50, do I still let them bother me and swelter in the heat rather than wear a sleeveless top. I have no problem on the beach in my bathing costume in front of the multitudes but as soon as I leave the beach and get dressed the upper arms must be covered. 

And then photographs - my brother sent me a picture this morning of my sister and I with him on his wedding day (three years ago today). I had never seen the picture before.The two of them look great. I saved the picture and then cropped myself out of it. Why? Many of my pictures are odd sizes because a certain person has been cropped out of it. After "cut and paste" the "crop" function on my computer must be my favourite and most used one.

I don't even think of myself as vain (but this must probably indicate that I am) but the picture in my head of what I look like is completely different to any photograph ever taken. Can they all be wrong? Very occasionally, there is that one picture that makes me think "Wow, lovely, that cannot be me" "Is it me?". It does not happen often though and those pictures are ones are in frames! In almost every picture that I see of myself lately I look like my father (a very handsome man, I may add, but in later life double-chinned, baggy eyed with thin lips (we won't mention the senile bit)). Then, the voice! Nothing bothers me quite as much as when you make a call on your cellphone and your voice comes back at you. "Please don't tell me that I sound like that?"

My niece in the UK blogged a few weeks ago about this new way of teaching yourself to get comfortable in front of the camera by taking lots of pictures of yourself. Every time I mistakenly touch that "selfie" button on my camera, I terrify myself. She has been taking pictures of herself in various outfits and it is amazing how her confidence has grown in front of the camera. 

The next generation have no fear of cameras and technology. My sons are comfortable having pictures taken and know how to smile. My nieces do Snapchat, Instagram and have hundreds of pretty pictures of themselves and many gremlin faces and squint eyed ones too. I cannot even do a Skype call and watch myself talking. It unsettles me completely and the video gets put off after two minutes.

Another story, planted in our minds when we were younger was about not having long hair when you got to 40. (Very ageing, "mutton dressed up as lamb", must be shoulder length or shorter). Could this have been the same source who said "cover your upper arms", "don't show your knees", "cut your hair"? 

My great and brave friend, going through chemo at the moment, has been an inspiration. She has taken the treatment in her stride, continued to work, complained little and embraced her baldness. Luckily we had a fun morning choosing her very expensive wig or the whole exercise might have left her feeling a tad "ripped-off". She does wear it to work but over the last 10 weeks or so I have not seen her wear the wig at all, sometimes a cap, never a scarf. She looks beautiful. Luckily she does have a perfectly shaped head and beautiful smile. I don't think I could be so brave.

When she had her head shaved my sister said that we should do something to support her. However, she could not be brave enough to shave her head but would give up wine with her during the treatment. Shaving my head would be the easier option for me. Luckily it was all talk and as it worked out none of us have had to give up wine and only one of us lost our hair.

I am jealous of my friends who wear sleeveless dresses and tops with confidence while I swelter with hot flushes and sleeves. I am proud to walk down the road with my bald friend who just smiles broadly and re-assuringly at people who give her the "oh dear you are dying" look. My brave, bald friend who is not afraid to bare her head but, she too keeps her upper arms covered.

What is with us woman? Going back to Anne Lamott's quote - I think I understand correctly that we should spend more time together showing our "beautiful, soft and clean and warm" upper arms to each other so that eventually we will all rub off on each other and we will become a new generation of woman who are not afraid of bare upper arms. Definitely much cooler woman.

Ooops there goes the bell. I think I need therapy.

* Gill, a friend who I worked with for many years started the "Aunty Syl's arms" thing. I did not know "Aunty Syl" but now all  my family and friends also refer to batwing arms as those of poor "Aunty Syl". RIP

ages and stages

"First you're young. Then you're middle aged. Then you're wonderful."

Such are the wise words of Alice Roosevelt

I love it and especially now, in my mid-50's, when I think that life is speeding by far too fast and time just races away from me, I can't help but smile at how your perception of age changes. 

Turning 30 was probably the hardest as it was suddenly the end of being young, pretty and irresponsible (although I did have 3 sons aged 7, 5 and 4 at the time and had to be somewhat responsible (they would probably tell you differently)).  
The 30's were busy and tough.  I was often so happy and then sometimes very unhappy but I became a great master at hiding the unhappiness.  I loved my boys and motherhood most of all. I loved the sport, the school, being involved and making new friends.  I had a husband who made a lot of money and lost a lot of money. We were either eating fillet, doing game drives and flying in hot air balloons over Mala Mala or having our electricity cut as the bills were unpaid and having to cook mince on a gas burner by candlelight. Mostly my 30's was a jumble of highs and lows. I remember turning 35 and thinking - "Hell my life is half way done".  Middle aged.

The 40's I could also say were busy and tough but with turning 40 came a new stage in my life and that, although hard at times, brought with it a sense of calmness and finding out who I really was, without the pretence of trying so hard to fit and and to be the "happily married southern suburbs housewife". It was a time to realise that having the wedding ring, the house and the husband were not making me happy and that to escape to a rickety cottage on the railway line with my fast growing chickens was probably the bravest and best thing I could have done at the time. The 40's were fast.  A home filled with growing boys and their many friends, a home where peanut butter sandwiches and not ham and cheese sandwiches were now the norm, muddy rugby togs and fund raising for tours, two tubs of yogurt had to last the week and "100 ways with Mince" became my bible. It was a home that is still so close to my heart as it nurtured me through my 40's and told me "everything will be alright".

So I have been young, I have been middle aged and now I am looking forward to the "wonderful" to come. Seeing as Alice lived to 96 it could still be quite a while to wait.

But waiting is fun...

The 50's have been the best so far. I love and am loved by the kindest, funniest and most caring man in the world;  my boys continue, as they have always done, to make me proud of the men they have become; I am blessed to still have my mother on hand to talk to most days and see often; I have an amazing sister and beautiful nieces, and a brother and a step-daughter.  

However, the 50's bring with it one of the most important realisations - your family are your family and will always be; your parents are not unfortunately with you forever and your children start their own lives in their own homes, sometimes far away.  It is actually your friends who you start to appreciate most in your 50's. They have always been there but have perhaps been taken for granted along the way. Now because your family do not take up so much of your time, there is more time for your friends, for making new ones and taking up new hobbies. I have time to walk, time to draw and time to share a lunch, movie or dinner with my friends. There is more honest sharing and less pretending. Unfortunately there are deaths and sadnesses and sicknesses but these too help us grow and learn how to be a friend, how to listen, how to support and how to appreciate all we have.

All pretty wonderful.

Who said growing up was not easy?

Pictures by:  Jenny Kotze at Kirstenbosch

when flowers don't bloom

One of the things on my wish list has always been to have a home with a Wisteria covered arch or wall.

(something like this)

Well I have the arch and the Wisteria but it has never bloomed. Last month one bloom appeared but only lasted for a day.

The problem, I was told by a professional, is a lack of sun caused by the huge Silky Oak trees on our pathway. We have two of these trees at our front gate and Michael is always complaining about what a mess they make and what ugly trees they are. Can a tree be ugly? It does mess all year round (I'll admit to that) but I love the shapes of the leaves and how they look through my thin muslin curtains in the morning. At the moment they are at their best and are covered in those lovely sticky, orange, caterpillar type flowers (which drop all over Michael's car which now has to stand outside!). 

Last night we had the tree fellow (are you really supposed to say "fella" because he fells trees?) around and I finally agreed that we have one (of the two) removed (so that the Wisteria can get enough sun to bloom next year). Michael is happy. I am not so sure. But this tree man is a good and entertaining "fella" and seems to know what he is doing.

I am also working on a plan to change the garden around completely. We used to have a lovely stretch of lawn (before the trees and shrubs started to grow) but we now have grass that is patchy and won't grow (because the trees have grown so much). My idea is to extend the patio and make the flower beds bigger and use paving stones in between (maybe a pond or water feature or fish pond and of course, a bench under a tree). The gardening books are out and the planning must begin.

This morning when watering the garden (in the gentle drizzle) and admiring my Silky Oak for the last time, I came across some treasure. About two years ago Rob had given me some Amaryllis bulbs. He kept asking me if they were growing and flowering but I had forgotten where I had planted them and had to keep telling him not (I have been known to plant bulbs upside-down). Yesterday, about six weeks after his death, I came across this spot of red. Not a usual colour for my garden as I try to keep things purple and white.

Under normal circumstances plants of colour would usually be removed and put into the "naughty" colourful corner of the garden but I had to stand back and appreciate the beauty of the moment (while some sticky orange petals dropped into my tea cup for the last time).

Such is life...

sunday is a day of rest...

I worked too hard yesterday so today has been a lazy Sunday.

A very busy Saturday, starting with a lovely long walk and being spoilt with a clear, warm morning and stunning spring flowers in bloom.  Then some time in the garden with our ever, enthusiastic gardener who also helped with the sweeping and clearing out of the garage (not planning to die Gareth, just essential to be able to make room for the new treasures collected from Albion Road). This took up much of the day, with a breather to watch the best tennis match I have seen in ages between Roger and Novac.

The day was rounded off with a lovely house-warming dinner party at my brother and sister-in-law. Lovely food and company but it was late and left me feeling a bit tender today (the lateness causing the tenderness and not the whole bottle of bubbles I consumed).  However, I was not too tender that I could not make my way to the Apple Store to replace my stolen iPad this morning. Not really fair when you only get paid out R7 300 by your insurance for the iPad and have to pay R8 599 for the new one (and no cover). Then, the irritation of waiting in a queue at Vodacom to change a SIM card (they issued me with the incorrect sized SIM), only to find out that I have to do it at my service provider. Anyway the iPad is now up and running and I am so grateful that all my settings could be retrieved. These machines and stuff in the clouds are very clever.

So this afternoon was spent...

Taking pictures of wine bottles with the iPad for my new newsletter, 

and a bit of fiddling and playing with my new art project

the lounge smells of lacquer thinners which is supposed to transfer the pictures on the paper, sometimes I win, sometimes just an inky blob but it is all in the name of art

I think it is the lacquer thinners that made me thirsty. Thirsty for what? Not feeling much like wine today. What about the bottle Ricard I paid a fortune for the other day?  A bit of background:-

My crazy friend Cheryl (the one in New Zealand, remember?) and her husband have just had a wonderful holiday in Europe. For two months we were entertained with her daily diary. Following their travels, what they were eating and drinking and doing was armchair travel at it's best

" and went through the back street markets, which were busy and bustling and shady

.....filled with ice cream parlours, bakeries, butcheries etc....oh and boring clothing and tourist stuff too.....Stopped for lunch and Pastis, I was having withdrawals by now......and Ian even found a bottle store and bought me my own whole new bottle of blue Pastis. The lady in the bottle store smiled sweetly and said "brave"... Ian smiled sweetly and I left them both with their various dreams. So - more walking back to the hotel via the water fountains, and for a cool shower,for Le lobsters one and two.....and we are off again to see some of the night life of Nice......two pink glow in the dark TOURISTS hahah xxx"  

She is home now but her talk of Pastis got me thinking as the only Pastis I know of is that restaurant in Constantia. Last weekend I found myself in a bottle store - don't have to visit them much anymore as my job has certain "perks". While waiting to get the stuff I had hired, I spied the Pastis and remembered the above picture on Facebook. I had to try it (not the blue one unfortunately). 

That evening I made a jug when my mom, Kathy and Dalene visited (they did not seem too impressed) and a second jug was not needed.

So tonight was the night and, not feeling much like wine, I would experiment with a more refreshing drink.

Definitely an acquired taste (I have just poured my second glass as we "speak"). It numbs your tastebuds (and tongue) but I love the licorice flavour, the clean, herby taste on your palate and the fact that it is not sweet. I also decided to do a little research on the product (in case I was making too strong a mixture) and that perhaps you could mix it with something bubbly.

Enter a French bar anytime after 11am on a Sunday morning and you will be hit by a wave of strong-smelling aniseed which wafts from the Pastis glasses lining the bar. For Pastis is a favourite tipple at apero time for many French people. Drunk with a small dash of water which turns the yellow liquor cloudy, it is popular with both young and old, men and women.

The name pastis comes from the Provencal word pastisson, which means a mixture. And although Pastis producers are extremely guarded about their famous recipe, it is understood to be based on a melange of star anise, licorice and a handful of Provencal herbs.

Pastis is a derivative of absinthe, a lethal alcoholic drink made from wormwood as far back as the 18th century. It used to be given to patients suffering from rheumatism and intestinal worms but became a bona fide drink when it was discovered by Frenchman Henri-Louis Pernod in the 19th century.

In 1805 Pernod built a distillery in Pontarlier, near the Swiss border, in which he made copious amounts of absinthe for a growing fan club. Over the next century it became hugley popular, with imbibers claiming that the drink was hallucinogenic. One such admirer was Oscar Wilde, who wrote: “The first stage is like ordinary drinking, the second when you begin to see monstrous and cruel things, but if you can persevere you will enter in upon the third stage where you see things that you want to see, wonderful, curious things.”

The drink was deemed so dangerous that in 1915, it was banned by the French government. However, less than a decade later politicians caved in, and allowed absinthe-style drinks to be sold as long as they did not contain wormwood.

A number of anise-based drinks began to creep into bars and homes in the south of France, but none had got the recipe quite right, according to one young man in Marseille called Paul Ricard. The 23-year-old man spent months working on a winning formula, adding different ingredients until in 1932, he got it just right.

Ricard, the son of a wine merchant, started marketing his anise-flavoured drink, Pastis, which he called “the true pastis from Marseille”. After several run-ins with the authorities he was given the right to make and sell the drink in 1938.

In 1951 Pernod launched a counter attack, bringing out his own version of the anise drink which he called Pastis 51. Pernod and Ricard then joined together in 1974 to create the world’s second largest drinks company.

Pastis is now the second most popular drink in France after wine, especially amongst people living in the south, from where it originated.

Seems like I am adding too much water and Oh my word - Absinthe!!

"Compared to other spirits, absinthe is as unique as they come. Absinthe may not have the same effects as certain illegal drugs, but it definitely awakens the senses in a way that no other alcohol truly can. As you sip your absinthe, try listening to a favorite song, or looking through a photo-book. We suspect that the increased sensory awareness – the only true and common effect of absinthe we know of – is what made the drink a hit with artists such as Van Gogh, Hemingway, Rimbaud, and many others (though we don’t believe Van Gogh lost his ear due to an absinthe binge!)

Absinthe need not remain a mystery to you. The experience of preparing, pouring, and drinking absinthe is difficult to describe without resorting to extravagant language, and so we recommend that you see for yourself what all the fuss is about."

So here I sit, busy deciding whether another drink is in order, while writing my newsletter and this blog and listening and singing along to an old Crowded House CD. 

Watch out Hemingway and Picasso (and Edith Piaf), I can multi-task!!