MY BRIGHTLY SHINING HALO

Positively blinding, I tell you. Another long outstanding task done and dusted. Literally.

My intricately carved Chinese chest stands in my entrance hall, and therefore close to the front door. Now Cape Town is notoriously windy, so every time the door is opened, more dust blows in, and nestles cozily around the aforementioned intricate carving, all those little notches, frets, folds and crevices.

A surface dust and polish doesn’t reach these little indentations, but I’ll tell you what does: a cotton bud, dipped in teak oil. And it emerges black with the dust of ages.  In the end I finished cleaning the carving on the lid. As for the back and sides, well, maybe a dust around with a soft toothbrush another day.

The chest was an impulse buy.  About 25 years ago I was browsing around an antique shop in Kwa Zulu Natal and spotted the chest. I didn’t hesitate for a moment. I hauled out my credit card and bingo! The chest was mine. Better still,  the chest was on sale, marked down quite considerably.  Markdown or not, I was having that chest!

When I opened the lid, the dusty aromatic odour of camphor billowed out. Oh joy! A carved camphor chest: How lucky was I?

Many girls of my generation were given a wooden kist, either as a 21^st birthday gift, or  merely as  parental largesse. The idea being they could now build  up their trousseau.   Usually the kists were large,  in  a carved linenfold style. I never had one, and always hankered after a wooden kist.

 My late teen years were  difficult: my dad was stricken by a stroke, the family  had no choice but  to emigrate, and instead of going to University, I had to start working. Hence my kist-less status.

 I may have had to wait  40 years for my chest, but it was more than worth the wait.

(JAP) VALENTINE’S DAY

*JAP:  Just a paragraph to keep my blog ticking over, whilst I’m busy with longer writing projects.

My very first Valentine’s Day  card was floral, pink and blue, and covered in glitter.  I knew who it was from : Love – Sven, was a bit of a giveaway! Sven was a pimply Swedish schoolboy, in the Sixth Form, at nearby Milton Boys School. His family were friendly with my BFF’s family, also Swedish missionaries, and Birgitta loved the idea of a burgeoning romance, and started teaching me rudimentary Swedish phrases. I can politely greet you with a Goddag! But that’s about all.  And Sven? I wonder? Long ago, and far away …

Does Valentine’s Day make your heart go pitt-a-patt? Are you optimistic? Filled with rosy anticipation? Or bleak and gloomy? Or muttering about commercialization ?  Nothing wrong with red roses and chocolate so far as I’m concerned, at any time of the year!

SALUTARY JANUARY HOUSEKEEPING

So here we are, a brand new year, filled with promise, potential and already flagging resolutions. Oh go on, admit it, you know you’re thinking: why ever did I resolve to …..   fill in the blank. Lose weight? Give up wine? Chocolate? Eating altogether? Binge watching TV  … the choices are endless.

I did commit to doing something daily  for the month of January. So far, Day 20 and forging on. No, I’m not telling you what it is. And no, none of the above. It’s personal . If I make it to Day 31 I might report the fact – or not.  Time will tell.  First of all, I need to accomplish it. Onwards!

What I did accomplish yesterday – braggy blast of trumpets – was to clean up my Outlook Express address book . Names from yesteryear. Other names that leave me thinking: who on earth is that? Why are they in my Address Book?

A few have died. Others have moved out of my social orbit. And still over a hundred entries remain.

So much of my communication is via WhatsApp, an essential tool in my life. I seldom send e-mails any more. But its handy to have an e-mail address to receive bulletins/newsletters/retail info/online magazines.

What’s your prime method of communication?

OUR OLD POSTAL CODES BOOK

Visiting the massive stationery shop on the diary hunt, raised mixed feelings.  On the one hand I enjoyed seeing the vast array of  diaries, art supplies and stationery items, but on the other hand, a feeling of great sadness that  buying notelets, writing paper, and other items related to letter writing, is no longer an option, because the South African Post Office has all but collapsed.

I no longer have access to my SAPO post box at the Big Bay PO.  The Big Bay Post Office summarily closed months ago, as did many others.  I recall reading that there are (or were) only 30 post offices now operational in the Cape Town metro. This in a city of more than 4 million residents!

And as for postal street delivery, not a chance. Its over a year since I last saw a postman on his red bicycle.

 Letter writing is no longer a viable  option.

So: as a lifelong letter-writer, and keen member of Postcrossing, my visit to the stationery shop was bittersweet.

I tidied out my writing bureau last week, came across the 1996 SA Postal Codes directory, and binned it. There’s no point in keeping it.

NOT ANOTHER HARDBOILED EGG!

 Oh no! Breakfast time and I’m facing yet another cold, hard boiled egg – uuuurrrggh, followed by groan.  Non-South African readers will probably be thinking: why on earth start the day with a cold hard boiled egg? Why not cook something you like?

 Good question .I would if I were able to.  But thanks to our constant load-shedding (South African term for rolling power blackout, which occur daily) and are  often scheduled bang on breakfast time, cold food is the only option. Of course I always have a flask of boiled water on hand, so at least there’s the consolation of a cuppa. Plus I keep a small stock of hard-boiled eggs in the ‘fridge. But, after many repeat performances, hard boiled eggs at 0800 lose their appeal.

And no, I can’t eat breakfast later, once power is restored because I need to take a handful of meds straight after breakfast etc etc.  Any readers over 60 will relate to my predicament.

But: it could be worse. My eldest daughter is currently in Zimbabwe and reports they have been without water or power for the last 24 hours.  The entire city, not just their own property. Apparently 10 to 12 hour power cuts are commonplace. I have learnt not to moan to #1 daughter about Load Shedding, because she jumps all over me and reminds me of the situation in Zim, and firmly states we have nothing to complain about. Relatively speaking, she’s right.

But I’m very weary of cold hard boiled eggs.

And I’m even more weary of Eskom’s mismanagement and corruption. Eskom  is our national power utility and our nation is now reaping the whirlwind from years of  Eskom neglect, mismanagement and corruption. A new CEO was appointed two years ago, and is making valiant efforts to keep the  leaky, doomed ship afloat. I wouldn’t have his job for all the money in the world.

 Just thinking about Eskom gives me a headache, so I’ll stop moaning, make a cuppa and return to my book.  

 

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE CAPE FLATS KIND

There I was, pushing my little supermarket trolley and dithering on the edge of the  big pedestrian crossing, trying to gauge whether the oncoming cars were going to stop for me (not always a given, in good old SA) when “COME!” commanded stern voice in a heavy Cape Flats accent.

 I jerked up my head, scanned the sharp, trendy haircut, the powerful, squat build, the dark hands, each finger decorated with a silver ring and my mind screamed:  Cape Flats Gangster!!  Standing firmly mid-crossing, he guided me via my elbow over the crossing, grumbling: they never stop at these crossings no more, directing a baleful glance at the oncoming drivers.

We reached the safety of the pedestrian walkway in the parking lot. He solicitously asked if I needed help getting to my car and unloading my groceries? I thanked him, and assured him I didn’t need help.

As I slowly trundled towards my little car, I surreptitiously watched to see which car he entered. Would it be a big flashy 4×4?  A Beemer? But no, he opened the door to a Volvo station wagon.  Hmmm. For all I knew he was a respectable family man, pillar of the community.  Or a gang boss from the Cape Flats. 

Overseas readers will think I’m paranoid. Yes, I am. Gangsterism is endemic on the Cape Flats. This morning’s news bulletin announced the death of two men, by gunshot, assailants unknown, in Bonteheuwel. Police have opened a murder docket and declared the incident to be gang related. I’ve lost count, these shootings are so common.

I’m lucky. I don’t live on the Cape Flats. I live in a gated, walled, electro-fenced community in the middle class  West Coast area. But even so, today’s Community Street WhatsApp bulletin warned that 5 men, armed with knives and sticks, were holding up dog-walkers in our area, stealing cellphones and money.  Still think I’m paranoid ?

OPEN YOUR BOOKS AND CLOSE YOUR LEGS!

Say what?

This cryptic utterance was made by a Provincial Minister of Education in our country, in early January, just prior to the opening of schools for the new 2022 school year.

Naturally, it elicited howls of outraged politically correct protest. “You cannot speak to our learners like that!” was the gist of the uproar. For non-SA readers, our school children are always referred to as Learners.  Not schoolkids, or children, or students, or scholars. Some genius decided that Learners would be the correct term. Please visualise me shrugging, and raising my eyebrows. Go figure.

What did the Prov Min of Ed mean? She meant that way too many young girls are sexually active, becoming pregnant and dropping out of school, between the ages of – and please brace yourselves – eleven and fifteen.  Yes, I know.  Shocking. Tragic. And so unnecessary in this age of freely available birth control.

The first births to be recorded nationally in 2022 , and the media always broadcast the First New Year babies, were from mothers aged 14 and 15 respectively..            

In South Africa many parents cannot or will not discuss sexual education with their children. Why? Either due to traditional norms e.g. “ parents do not speak of these things to their young ones”; or due to religious norms that insist on purity before marriage, and therefore sex education is unnecessary and/or will only incite youngsters to experiment.

Yes, I know. It is infuriating.  The Dark Ages live on.

Personally, I think that Provincial Min of Ed deserves a medal for speaking plainly, forcefully actually. Robust, plain speech is exactly what our school children need to hear.  Let’s have more of it.

HELLO SUMMER

Seems like Summer finally blew in on the heels of a roaring South-Easter. I say finally, because for most of December, the temps have been lurking  in the very low 20s, with minimums in the low teens, plus plenty of overcast days and showery drizzle. A sort of reprise of Winter.

Personally, I enjoy cool weather. The soaring 30s reduce me to a  limp sweaty rag, unable to think, let alone function. Tomorrow’s forecast is 34 degrees Celsius .  Aaaarrrrgggh.  Whisk me off to Greenland, on your sled, please Santa.

But my garden is smiling. Look at the Lantana, blazing brightly. The bright, clear yellow is one of my favourites, plus the flowers have a soft, sweet somewhat banana-like perfume. And my new Potato  Bush  is blooming prettily, which cheers me no end.

I’ve left the best until last: brag, brag : look at the Amayllis!  I’m thrilled with the vivid red flowers.  My first attempt at growing the bulb.  I was so encouraged by the beautiful display that the Freesia bulbs produced this winter, that I  went quite mad and bought more bulbs,  two Amaryllis bulbs.  Worth every cent!

GIFTS

I think we often get it wrong when it comes to choosing gifts. If the recipient frequently says : oh I do wish I had a new i-phone, or I do wish I could get more of my favourite perfume, then the way is clear. No problem. All we need are deep pockets or an elastic credit card.  

But when the Wish List is empty, or never revealed, then what?  Perfume? But we need to know – does she prefer sweetly floral or dangerously oriental? And we have no idea.

Chocolates?  And then we discover she has an allergy to nuts. Liquor? Nope, ain’t gonna work, never touches a drop.

Now what? A gift voucher? Too impersonal.

Sometimes the simplest thing can give enormous pleasure, with little damage to the donor’s budget.  For example, I was thrilled to receive a large container of blueberries as a Christmas gift. Firstly, I like the fruit, and secondly they are a hell of a price, so in my modest little life, a large punnet of blueberries is a treat!

And then there were the Festive Face Masks. You know it’s a Covid Christmas when your prezzie contains these two fun items:

I once gifted a friend with one of my long short stories. I printed it out, created a decorative cover, bound it with ribbon, and presented it. Voila! A unique gift. The recipient was charmed.

In the past I’ve both given, and received, packets of herb seeds, and flower seeds. Inexpensive, and provide pleasure all round.

This year, in view of the Covid-ridden shops, my Christmas shopping was minimal. I gave away a couple of my books, which I knew the recipient wanted to own, and bingo! Another happy friend.

In short, ingenuity is kind to the budget and  avoids crowded shops crammed with dodgy anti-vaxxers, plus plastic whats-its, definitely made in China.  They can keep ‘em. Both of them.

At the end of the day perhaps we need to ask a crucial, Marie Kondo-esque question:  Will my gift spark joy in the recipient?

IT’S THAT TIME OF YEAR

A HAPPY TRADITION

This morning I  selected six cheery, festive cards, wrote a sincere greeting  and the date, December 2021; neatly wrote the addresses, carefully stuck my Sender’s Label on the back of the envelope and felt the  happy glow of a job well done. 

You guessed it: Christmas Cards. 

Yes: I know about e-cards. Cute, seasonal and all the rest of it.

But I’m old fashioned. I enjoy sending and receiving Christmas cards from friends and relatives overseas.  Every year I fix the latest crop (dwindling alas, year by year) to the inside of my front door, where the reds, greens, golds and the occasional bit of glitter make me feel Christmassy and festive.

I have to mail them super early, due to our unreliable postal system, but  fuelled by hope that my local PO will  actually offer stamps on sale, and despatch my mail speedily, I shall mail the cards and hope they arrive sort of on time.  In previous years, I’ve received overseas cards in February, but on the upside: they arrived!

I wonder if any of my readers still send out Christmas cards?