Happy New Year

HERE'S WISHING YOU A WONDERFUL AND VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR!


MAY 2008 SEE DREAMS FULFILLED.

MAY YOU ENJOY LOVE AND LAUGHTER,
HAPPINESS AND JOY,
PEACE AND HARMONY,
GOOD HEALTH AND SUCCESS.

MAY 2008 BE YOUR BEST YEAR EVER!

WITH LOVE, LIGHT AND LAUGHTER, ALWAYS,

ABSOLUTE VANILLA...

(& ATYLLAH...)

Stream of consciousness ramble – Culture and Belonging

It’s as hot as hell here and I think my brain has turned to mush, or just melted. In view of the fact that thinking is presently beyond me and my ISP is broken yet again, I’m tunneling out briefly and resorting to something I scribbled a couple of days ago - and sharing some cooling pool reflection shots, which I know those of you in the cold, wet and snow probably really don’t need to see right now.

The previous post on The Material Culture has caused me to ponder a somewhat related concept, prompted by D’s remark that it must be quite fun to have blog visiting to do. My response was to say that I felt that blogosphere was a community to which one belonged and within that community - that culture of blogging - were individual communities of writers, photographers, cooks, gardeners, knitters, dog lovers, scientists, lawyers etc etc. Tribes, I suppose one might call them. And it struck me then, thinking of what I’d posted on the new culture of materialism that blogging goes perhaps, in some way, to also make up for the other crumbling “old” cultures and structures. Of course, there’s no doubt that it’s unquestionably a part of the globalization trend. If I think of those who visit here - there are Americans, Brits, French, Welsh, Irish, Indian, Australians, Canadians and a host of others – although once very separate, in blogosphere we find ourselves very much together, sharing thoughts and ideas, finding ourselves in agreement – and occasionally in conflict - but all reaching out to one another - one being to another, linked through cyberspace. And, as G&G from It Must Be The Vapors pointed out, beyond, for now, the grasp of government.

His comment, which I hope he doesn’t mind me quoting said:

“The interweb blogosphere is a perfect working model of how relationships across the globe serve the same function as tribes, enterprises, and self sustaining trade agreements with no need of government regulation whatsoever. We are much better than governments gives us freedom to be. Not being bound by physical location nullifies the ideas of nations and borders except for the unique cultural contributions we all bring.”

So perhaps blogosphere and cyberspace also go some way to create a new culture where the old cultures are crumbling. Perhaps blogging is another cultural construct, much like shopping – but, perhaps a considerably more meaningful one.

For me, this creation of new cultural constructs is quite pertinent since I have little concept of nationality, of what it is to be a South African. My heritage is central and northern European. My education was very much in the English/British mold. I have never felt a sense of belonging here – it’s just where I am. As such the nationality by which many define themselves has never really had much of a claim on me. Likewise, I belong to no religious grouping – been there, done that and decided to focus on a far broader spirituality than one defined by a particular doctrine and dogma. Similarly, as an only-child, family has little significance so again, it’s not something I feel I belong to. I consider myself, ultimately, I suppose, to be a citizen of the world – whatever that might be, and yet, I also don’t subscribe to the Material Culture.

All this has often left me wondering about belonging and where I belong - and yet, at the same time, I don’t feel like I don’t belong. I suspect, perhaps that being part of other communities, like blogosphere, a community of like-minded thinkers and a community of writers, is what does it. And of course, I also happen to know that I am part of a very different community, a far greater one that goes beyond the Earthly realm and I think that, more than anything else, gives rise to a tremendous sense of being and belonging - and of being interconnected.

How about you? How are you impacted by culture and community? How much do you belong, need to belong? Is blogosphere a cultural concept or a “tribe” for you?


And if none this post makes any sense, you can safely assume my brain has fried, melted and leaked out all over my desk. Now will someone please send some snow! What do you mean it will melt in the post? Oh well, best I go and through myself in the pool then.

The Material Culture

Well, the ISP has been buggering about something terrible these last few days making access to the blogosphere nigh well impossible. A “major international failure” was how D described it. Anyway, before the lines all crashed down, I was able to get to Baino’s site and to this post on seasonal sales and rank consumerism which really struck me. (Please do read it to put my post into better context.) Just what is it, I wondered, that has made the world so increasingly materialistic?

Although the consumer culture is true of most places today, I thought specifically of South Africa because it’s where I am and it’s a place where everyone noticeably suffers from an incredibly bad dose of “Gotta Have”. Do bear in mind though that most here live well below the poverty line, that the vast majority struggle to put food on the table and that unemployment is high. One of the worries at this time of year is how many school leavers will pass their final year – not because there’s a worry that many will fail – but that the pass rate will be too high and there is little hope of employment for most of these children. But here’s the thing, everyone, rich and poor, have to “Have”. Interest rates are running high as it is, inflation is looking skywards and the government consistently urges low or no spending. But do the general populace heed any of this? Not a chance – they’re out there spending and buying like there is no tomorrow - buying on credit, running up debts with little or no concept of the true cost. I asked a woman I know how, when she had to borrow money for school fees and had defaulted on her electricity and municipal payments, she could even think of buying a new TV, a microwave, a ceiling fan and a computer. She said it was important to have these things or others thought less of you, to have them meant you had “arrived”. And if you had them and someone else didn’t then you were better than them. The confusion of values struck me forcibly. And perhaps I should add that this woman lives in a tin shanty in what was originally a squatter camp. Her debts are not insignificant and she regularly receives “red letters” from various credit agencies but this doesn’t seem to trouble her – so long as she “Has”, she’s fine. Yet hers is not an isolated case, and, more curiously, the “condition” is not isolated to only the impoverished. South Africa, like so many places is caught up in the mayhem of consumer greed. Gotta Have is the new culture, the new means of defining who one is.

And see, here’s the thing, in pondering the Rise of Stuff: Stuff - materialism - has become the new culture, the new religion, the new family and value system – the thing that defines us - in a world that has seen the increasing demise of the role of the nation state. And along with the watering down of nationality through globalization, there has also been a whittling away of religious influence and the break up of the family unit – as a result of both the former. In South Africa this break down is felt particularly acutely.

Apartheid saw to the destruction of the family when men were forced away from the rural areas to work on the mines, leaving women, children and old folks at home. Traditional family values were corrupted and families were scattered. In a similar way, these same people have been propelled from separate “tribes” (Xhosa, Zulu, Sotho, Venda, Tswana etc) into homogeneous South Africans at an incredible speed. They’ve also shot from rural lifestyles into cities (in the constant search for employment – so they can buy stuff) and, increasingly, the global village. They’ve gone from thatched mud huts to New York skyscrapers and the “glamourous life of plenty” through the medium of television and Hollywood movies. They’ve gone from donkey cart to jets in a few short years. Traditional religions have likewise given way first to Western religions and then the erosion of those Western religions. But it’s not just the impoverished masses who are affected, everyone is. The guy storming along the motorway in his brand new BMW 6 series or his Bentley is not really that much different. He too clings to Status as a means of defining who he is. See, where he used to business in Cape Town and perhaps Johannesburg, he now does business in Hong Kong, London and New York. Where his family used to be all around him, he now has kids in Sydney, Los Angeles, Toronto and London. Where he used to have just one family unit he now has three scattered families courtesy of his three wives. Where Church gave him direction he now thinks it’s a load of old cobblers. And so, Materialism and Fun have become his culture, his religion, his family and his value system – and, as such, his means of defining who he is.

The reality is we are “developing” so fast that we have spiraled out of control and the things that held us together, the old values, have flown out the window as we whizz through time and space attempting to (re)define ourselves. It seems that we are not yet sufficiently evolved to get along without needing to define ourselves - and so enters the Culture of Materialism. We are our stuff, and we are defined, made meaningful, by the amount and kind of stuff we own. And of course those who don’t fit the box, who do not conform, are the heathens – because they too, by definition, must be defined and boxed in some way by all those others.

Christmas gifts by way of happy accidents

Well, that's done and dusted for another year and I probably won't have to cook for the rest of the week either - by which stage we'll have had our fill of leftovers and if I see anything Christmassy again before December 2008 it will be way too soon.

Amidst the various preparations, Christmas dished up some happy photographic accidents. You know the kind of shot that you weren't expecting which then leads to an entire photo-shoot to capture similar effects? Well, this was my additional and unexpected present courtesy of shaky hands and long exposures. There are plenty of steady shots too (as you'll see from the first and last images here) as a result of using the tripod but they're not quite as colourful.

Hope you enjoyed a happy Christmas and are now all set for your New Year's bash - if indeed you indulge in such a thing.

Season's Greetings and Scenes from my Tree

The vanillekipferl, the cinnamon stars and the marzipan fruits are all baked. The gammon is cooking, the food shopping is done, the tree is decorated and the presents are wrapped. The weather is unseasonal - thunderstorms to start the day which have now given way to blue skies and fluffy clouds - I'm not complaining, it's better than the sweltering 33 degrees C we had on Saturday. And so, as you can gather, I have surrendered to Christmas and have joined in the mania. I'm wearing my Santa beanie, humming to myself, smiling at all the frazzled and irritated shoppers and wishing the people working on the tills good cheer, good luck and Merry Christmas - and so I do the same to you.

I wish you a happy and festive and blessed Christmas and a peaceful and joyful New Year. May 2008 bring you good health, laughter, love, harmony and happiness and may all your dreams come true. If you do not celebrate the season, I wish you well and I send you love and laughter and joy.

Have a wonderful holiday season!
Merry Christmas to one and all!

You will notice that aside from the usual baubles and beads and whatnot, my tree is peopled with all sorts of folk who, when the lights are dimmed come out and celebrate the magic.

And here's what I've been humming to myself recently...

The Christmas Gift?

It has finally happened. We've turned into fowl. Atyllah would be proud of us. Or despairing. Time will tell.

So what, you wonder, am I wittering on about this time. Well, see, it's like this.

There was a tremendous squawking of guinea fowl earlier this evening - the sort of squawking that denotes an alarm. Then all fell silent for a while and then... the most strident peeping started. We assumed that it must be one of the three babies who live in the garden who'd managed to lose itself yet again. So we peeked out the front door and found, running around like little wind-up toys, four tiny, newly-hatched baby guinea fowl. There was no of evidence of a parent in sight and Outstanding Feather (the father of the other babies and named because of his one feather that insists on sticking out of his back instead of lying flat) was wandering around not quite sure what to do. He was alternately pecking the new babies and trying to round them up and they were simply out of control, whizzing back and forth across the driveway, peeping their tiny heads off.

I went off to get my camera to take some shots and as I came down the passage I saw a small creature dash into the kitchen (all the doors have been open all day because it's been a sweltering 33 degrees C). D gathered it up and took it back outside. The next thing, two more popped through the front door and scuttled up the passage to the bathroom. We gathered them up and popped them in a box. We searched for the third in the garden, caught it and popped in with its siblings. There was no sign of the fourth until very loud peeping advised us that there was a small bird under the Christmas tree in the lounge.

Despite hunting high and low, there was no sign of the parents anywhere. We even tried leaving the box on the patio so the mother might come for them - but it was already getting dark and guinea fowl retire early - the other lot were already roosting up in the flowering gum.

So D has now officially become the mother hen. The babies are tucked up in a box with a furry dog hot water bottle (water at blood temperature) and a teddy bear under which they're nesting. Whether they'll make it through the night remains to be seen but at least they're safe and warm.

We reckon they're no more than 24 hours old as they still have their egg tooth and their wings are mere stumps. The reality though is the mortality rate for these little birds is very high and they're subject to all sorts of pathogens. The shock of losing their parent and finding themselves in a strange environment - though they do seem to think D is mum - may well be too much for them. So we'll see whether they're still with us in the morning. If they are... then it will be a feeding regime, hand-rearing and... well, look, just don't call me Chicken - that's Atyllah's territory, not mine.

Seasonal Blues and a VanilleKipferl Recipe

This the season to be jolly, tra la-la la-laaa... and bah humbug. For a multitude of reasons this is not my favourite time of year and as the happy day draws closer so I am getting more stressed and more gloomy. Frankly, I think next year I'm simply going to cancel the entire event!

However, that said, as much as I think the Christmas plot has totally been lost in a glut of consumer frenzy, the felling of thousands of little trees, the general stress and mayhem to be experienced on the roads and in the malls, and prolific over indulging, I am, nevertheless, trying enter into some of the spirit. Though frankly, I'd sooner some spirit would enter me (whisky, vodka, brandy would do fine - if only I drank).

To this end, I've decided to do some belated Christmas baking and, in memory of my grandmother - see post below - I'm going to be baking a few things that she used to treat us with at Weihnacht (that's Christmas in German). I thought I'd share one of the recipes with you. Admittedly, it's not my gran's recipe - this one comes from a friend - but the biscuits taste just the same as the one's my granny made.

Evelyne’s Vanillekipferl

250 gr flour
220 gr butter (preferably use salted butter, it gives a better flavour)
100 gr ground almonds or hazelnut (I only use almonds)
70 gr sugar
a few drops of vanilla essence to flavour the dough

1. Mix all ingredients and roll into a ball.

2. Leave to rest for about 1 hour or so.

3. Form crescents by first rolling a little ball in your hands, roll into a sort of sausage and then voilà you form the crescent or half-moon. (This is a recipe originates from when the Turks almost laid siege on Vienna in 1683 or thereabouts, therefore the half-moon.)

4. Bake on an ungreased baking sheet (the dough is greasy enough) at approx. 180 ° Centigrade for about 30 to 40 minutes.
You'll notice when they are done by sticking your finger into the nearest Kipferl. If it gives way, it isn't done yet. They should have a light colour when done, brown is not good.

5. When they are ready take them out of the oven and IMMEDIATELY roll them in sugar. Don't use castor sugar, it just becomes sticky, and normal sugar is a bit too large-grained, so if you can possibly get icing or confectioner's sugar, use that.

6. Store the Kipferl in a tin, they will happily keep for about 4 - 5 weeks.

These little biscuits are decidedly more-ish - the last batch I baked lasted less than a week - never mind how long the kipferl were willing to last in their tin!

And once I've made the kipferl, I'm going to be making zimtsterne - cinnamon stars - and marzipan "fruits". Well, that's the intention anyway... Mice, men, best laid plans, ho ho ho hum.

NOTE:
Posts and blog visiting may be a bit haphazard - my ISP is playing up something horrible and broadband capacity seems to have slowed to a snail's pace - in fact, I'm remembering the days of dial up... Do please bear with me.

The Storyteller

Julie, from a Virtual Journey, having reorganized her photos, came up with the idea of a Gallery Meme.

She said, in her post: Choose an image(s) of any kind (photo, art or graphics - your own or attributed) - then write a description, poem or 'scene' about them as you please, and say why they are meaningful to you. These can be on separate posts if preferred; open ended as to when you place them.

The photo below of is of my paternal grandmother and judging from the writing on the back was taken in 1921 in Vienna. Aside from the fact that I love old photos, ones that contain family members strike me as having a special kind of magic – containing faces that reach out to you over time and space.


What amuses me about the photo is it paints a picture of a demure, thoughtful young woman, but by all accounts, my gran was anything but that. She was evidently the life and soul of the party.

My grandmother was born in Bregenz in Austria at the turn of the last century and, after her mother starved during the war, she ran away from home. It was about 1917 and she must have been about 16 or 17 years old. She went to Zurich where she first got a job washing dishes and then trained as a hairdresser. It was there that she met my grandfather, a man born in Vienna of Hungarian parents. He was evidently taken with her and told her he’d soon be leaving for South Africa to open a hairdressing salon and could he send for her. Ever an opportunist, she agreed.

She soon found herself with a backpack and a guitar on a ship bound for Cape Town. She often told me about the wonderful time she had on the ship, playing her guitar and entertaining the other passengers. She loved, she used to say, to dance and sing and make people laugh. When the ship docked in Cape Town, she was having such a good time that she decided to stay aboard the ship. The sailors gave her some of their clothing and she hid until the ship departed for Durban. My grandfather, however, well-peeved that the lady had not landed in Cape Town sent the police after her and my gran soon found herself on the way back to Cape Town. Docking in Cape Town, however, the authorities refused to allow her to disembark as she didn’t have the correct papers and so my grandfather came aboard and said he would marry her. They were married by the ship’s captain and to the day she died my grandmother swore that she never knew she was getting married as she couldn’t understand a word the captain said… The fact that she is likely to have understood everything my grandfather said seemed to have conveniently slipped her mind!

So it was that she found herself married and living with her new husband and her mother-in-law whom she detested. Although my grandmother worked for my grandfather in his salon in the centre of town, her views about her marriage never changed. She used to tell me that my grandfather kept her like a bird in a golden cage. She wasn’t allowed to look at, let alone dance with or talk to other men. He was, she would say, supremely jealous and his mother was an evil old gypsy!

When my father was a young boy my grandmother took him and his younger sister to Austria for six months. There she met up with a younger cousin and fell in love. She was loathe to return to South Africa but when her cousin said he would return with her, she agreed. And so my grandmother embarked on the love affair of her life. Although she attempted to be discreet about her relationship with her lover, it was clearly one of those things that couldn’t be hidden and divorce proceedings were soon instigated. My grandmother left Cape Town for Johannesburg taking her daughter with her – accompanying her was the man I grew up knowing as “gran’pa”. My father was left with is father and grandmother in Cape Town and I don’t think my father or my grandmother ever got over being parted.

When he was sixteen my father ran away to join his mother and in order to have her son legally live with her, my grandmother finally married her cousin.

So, despite the demure looking young woman in the picture, my gran was clearly pretty progressive for her time!

I loved her spirit of adventure, her sense of fun and above all her ability to tell stories. We would sit together in her “bauernstube” (her traditional Austrian farmer’s style dining room), drinking tea and munching anchovy toast and she would regale me with stories about her life. I have no doubt that it was from her and her love of story and story telling that I inherited the same love.

On Beauty and Balance

Given that yesterday's road rage event (see yesterday's post) has left a bad taste, I decided to follow up with something altogether nicer and brighter. Nothing like trying to find and keep the balance which is feeling decidedly wobbly at present.

These are some recent photos taken by way of trying to find a creative solution (following on hellish medical expenses last month) to some Christmas gifts!

With apologies to my US blogging friends

I’ll be perfectly candid, until such time as I started this blog and for some years, I held a pretty dim view of US citizens and all things USA. Yes, of course, to take such a view is to generalise and we all know generalisations aren’t generally fair. My view was fostered and supported by several factors of which all thinking people are well aware. However, since starting this blog I’ve “met” some really great people from the US, whom I’ve been delighted to get to know and who restored my increasingly flagging opinions of all things US. Today, however, my view has taken another serious nosedive and while I realise this may be unfair, it strikes me that what I experienced today is the kind of behaviour that has given the US the increasingly pariah international reputation it has wittingly created.

Aside from the fact that crime and violence have increased (as they do every year at this time) along with the arrival of the stressfully silly season, and the governing party are at each others throats at their annual conference where the fate of the nation will be decided, and the markets are wobbly and people are generally feeling twitchy, I was feeling fairly chilled and was tootling along the motorway – mostly courtesy of the fact that it’s a holiday here today and I’ve got all my Christmas shopping done. The motorway, I should point out, isn’t really a motorway or a freeway, but a two lane road the travels from the outskirts of suburbia to the city.

I had just overtaken another car so was in the “fast”/right lane when a fellow in a blue SUV roared up behind me. Since I was too close to the other car to cross back to the “slow”/left lane, I stayed where I was. The fellow edged towards my exhaust and then, in a fit of impatience, swerved out from behind me, cutting in front of the other car, roared off, cut back in front of me and chased off down the road - only to find himself having to stop abruptly at a red light at an intersection. I chuckled, as I often do when people display such idiotic behaviour. They seem to be in this terrible haste but fail to account for the fact that that particular section of road is littered with traffic lights and progress is invariably slow as a result.

I pulled up behind him. He glowered at me in his rear view mirror and proceeded to indicate with a circular movement of his finger to his head that he thought I was crazed. So I do what I frequently do with stroppy drivers; I shook my head and gave him the finger. He flung his door open and bellowed, “Don’t you fucking give me the finger.” Needless to say I did what any self-respecting woman who doesn’t take shit from oafs would do – I gave him the finger again. He leapt from his vehicle – ignoring the fact that the lights were changing, and rushed over to my car. He was, I noticed, sporting a straw cowboy style hat and had a beer gut that drooped unattractively over the top of his shorts. He waved his hands at me and screamed in an unmistakable US accent, “Don’t you give me the fucking finger you fucking whore!”

Nice man. Not.

I locked my car door and tried to figure how best to get away from the deranged clod. I might be cheeky but I am not suicidal. Traffic was streaming past us and was backed up behind me. People were hooting and I suppose in one way it was a good thing it was a holiday and traffic was light. Mind you, on the other hand, had it been busier perhaps someone might have leapt from a car and belted him, deservedly, on the snout.

As the bulk of the traffic passed and as he leapt back into his gas guzzler, I started to manoeuvre past him. But what did he do as I drew level with his rear passenger door? He swung hard and cut me off – deliberately trying to force an accident. The word “fuckwit” sprung to mind. Fortunately, having figured that he was sufficiently doltish and demented to do what he did, I braked and swung back into the right lane. He swung back in front of me and roared forward. Needless to say I was, by that stage, somewhat incensed. All mantras, notions of peace, love, brown bread and interconnectedness had flown from my being. He swung to the left lane and I accelerated, only to find that he did so too and swerved again to cut me off and then blocked my passing him by driving on the white line. Such etiquette. Such style. Such exemplary behaviour. Very definitely not. Of course, he not only blocked me, he blocked every other motorist on the road. So I slowed down and loitered and he, his fury no doubt boiling over, roared forward and I managed to tuck myself away three cars behind him.

Now here’s the thing: it is this sort of arrogant, aggressive, boorish behaviour that gives the US such a bad name. This guy is not a local and god knows, despite the fact that there is some seriously aggressive driving on local roads, I have never encountered anything like that here, not ever. People just don’t bother to get quite that offended, despite the levels of stress with which we all live. They may hoot, they may drive up your backside, they will inevitably give you the bird, but I have never seen anyone do what this US fellow did. And it struck me that he dealt a blow to that generalised view that has increasingly made the US a nation so despised and destested by so many of the world’s people. Diplomatic relations, let it be said, took a serious plummet today.

And this is the funny thing about us humans, isn’t it – we tend to notice and focus on the bad people do, rather than the good. We tend to remember the insensitivity and the arrogance, the bullying and the brashness, the ignorance and the aggression. We look at the Bush administration and shake our heads and say, “Yeah, well, no wonder, what do you expect.” Oh well, no doubt the bloke’s own karma will get him and he probably took himself a few years closer to a heart attack. And so much for my quiet tootle to the mall and my carefully cultivated equilibrium.

More Than Just Capering with Guinea Fowl

There’s been a lot of shagging going on this season. And much of it has been happening in my garden. The guinea fowl, it must be said are going at it with tremendous zeal. Although I’ve never quite seen how it starts or ends – though I can guess at the latter – the middle bit is nothing short of hilarious.

Take one female guinea fowl who hurtles around the garden with a somewhat startled look in her eye which seems to be saying, “Got to run, got to get him off my tail feathers. Oooh larks, he’s gaining on me - legs go faster!” Hot on her heels is the male with a maniacal glint in his eye. It’s one women the world over recognise. The fowl tear across the lawn, bound over the wall, hurtle up the driveway, flap over the back wall, chase through the yard, belt around the pool and whizz over the lawn again. Woe betide any other guinea fowl, dove or squirrel that gets in the way. Sometimes she gets crafty, and weaves her way, at speed, between the legs of the patio table and chairs. This usually results in him banging his head at least twice. If she’s really sneaky, she’ll duck under the sun lounger, leaving him having to adjust angles on the run. Should he catch up with her, he’ll do his best to viciously (or is it amorously?) remove a few feathers from her back. It is a demented and manic business in the extreme.

Watching all this a couple of days, biting our fingers because the baby guineas were right in the path of hot passion, we ended up doubled over with laughter.

She, we learned, is clearly more in charge of things than he is. First of all, she managed, without fail, to avoid the babies pootling around on the patio. And she managed to throw in an extra devious move. She flapped over the pool. He, running at full tilt took notice too late and nose dived straight into the water with a resounding splat. Guinea fowl, it must be said, are not waterbirds. He, inelegant at the best of times, paddled and flapped, stranded and stunned for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Guineas, you must understand, do not do the take off thing lightly – either from land or water. It is usual for them to survey, with quizzical looks, the object which they wish to reach – wall or roof or bird bath – for quite a while before doing an impression of jump jet which looks more like a cargo-carrying Hercules. And so Casanova did just the same and landed, very wetly, on the patio. She, meanwhile, had carried on running and as she came by for the second pass, she gave him a resounding peck as if to say, “C’mon, whaddayawaitin’for, you panting no-good soggy git?!” He was about to give chase once more when he was distracted by our uncontrollable laughter. For a moment he looked nonplussed before giving himself a very damp shake. He took off after his lady love, but when it came time to pass by the pool again – and we were still doubled up laughing – he came to an abrupt halt.

He looked at us – a mixture of bemusement and sheepishness on his face. She shot past, gave him another swift peck and kept going, only to realise, moments later, that he wasn’t hot on her tail. He was still staring at us, his head cocked as if to say, “Aw, c’mon guys, it wasn’t that funny, why’re ya still laughing?”. We had, it seemed, dampened his ardour with the ever successful well-timed laugh at the male, um, ego. She squawked and he turned away and scuttled behind a bush. Whether the deed was ever done I have no idea, but if ever a fellow had a cold shower to cool his passion, our bird was certainly the one! Time will reveal if the afternoon’s entertainment results in this…



I should add, by way of conclusion, that the fellow who starts the chase is seldom the one who gets the pleasure. He's usually too worn out after the hot-blooded pursuit, and it's another more sneaky bird who steps in at the last minute to claim the lady, while the first chap is left panting and gasping on the lawn. Who said all was fair in love and war, eh?

Two Posts Today

Would you look at that - lots of inactivity and suddenly there're two posts in one day... What wonders...

Bernita's Weirdly Contest - A Short Story

I discovered yesterday - nothing like leaving things to the last minute - that Bernita, over at An Innocent A-Blog, was hosting a short story competition which closes at midnight EST tonight and is entitled the Weirdly Contest. The rules can be found here, should you wish to create a piece in haste.

I have to confess that the muse has been scarce of late and while the image posted on Bernita's blog inspired what follows, the scribbling had plenty to do with participation and pretty much nothing to do with winning. Like those good people always say, it's the taking part that counts and it really is pretty cool being part of such a wide and various group of writers.

So, let us start with the image upon which the competition has been based...

(Photo from the Fortean Photo Library)

And herewith the story... Those who recall my involvement in trying to save the local plantations and forests may perhaps get where this story springs from...

Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum* aka The Dryad's Revenge

The far lookout beckoned. Commander Jisprit moved towards him.
"What is it?"
"Men - advancing upon the kingdom."
"Many?"
"Yes, in armoured horses."
Jisprit turned to gaze first at the palace, towering high into the sky, sunlight filtering through its windows. Then he cast his eyes upon the forest and the other cities in the Realm.
"Ready the warriors," he ordered.
"Yes, my lord."
Jisprit watched as messengers sped along the branching pathways of the Imperial City. Flight heralds soared above him to pass on the alert.
A glint of light caught his eye and turning, he saw his queen observing him from the tall turret.
He flexed his wings and rose up.
"My Lady," he said, bowing low.
"Trouble, Jisprit?"
"Men, My Lady, in armoured horses."
"They will sport with us or…?"
"Who knows, My Lady, but we cannot take chances. They have decimated the kingdom too often before."
The queen nodded, her face thoughtful. "They think not, these giant brutes. They see not. What is ours they believe to be theirs. You are right, we must be on our guard. Too often do they despoil and destroy the Realm." She paused a moment. "No, wait… let us be pre-emptive, Jisprit. For a change we will strike first."
"My Lady?"
"They destroy us and we let them. It is time to stop their constant advance. Call upon the Elementals, let their lightning strike the men as those plunderers have always struck us. It is time for change."


* In case you're wondering what Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum means, it is "If you wish for peace, prepare for war".

The Tag Demon strikes again

It seems the tag/meme demons are afoot again, and just in time for the silly season. Now why am I so not surprised?

First of all Scarlett and then Christine tagged me to do the Christmas meme. I told Scarlett I'd like to be excused since Christmas and I really don't get along well. She graciously excused me. Then Christine tagged me too, and so, taking a line from one of the comments on her blog, I said, if I had to write 12 favourite things about Christmas, could I please just put down Christmas tree 12 times.

So here go my 12 favourite things about Christmas - Christmas trees, Christmas trees, Christmas trees, Christmas trees, Christmas trees, Christmas trees, Christmas trees, Christmas trees, Christmas trees, Christmas trees, Christmas trees, Christmas trees. There, done!

Then I was tagged by PJ - or rather, I was infected....

A blogger named, Splotchy recently started a viral story, then tagged SamuraiFrog, who subsequently infected PJ who decided to kindly (not!) infect me - as if I haven't had enough bugs to deal with lately!

PJ wrote, from Splotchy's blog: "As Spiderman knows, with great power comes great responsibility, so I hope that my particular strain of this virus will infect loads more bloggers (like crabs but without the itching).

Here are the terms & conditions:

“This has probably been done before, but that is not stopping me, oh no.

Here’s what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don’t know how realistic it is, but that’s what I’m aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

If you are one of the carriers of this story virus (i.e. you have been tagged and choose to contribute to it), you will have one responsibility, in addition to contributing your own piece of the story: you will have to tag at least one person that continues your story thread. So, say you tag five people. If four people decide to not participate, it’s okay, as long as the fifth one does. And if all five participate, well that’s five interesting threads the story spins off into.

Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours.”

So, here goes:

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

My first idea was to put the applesauce in the microwave. Hey, I was still tired. Could I scoop some out and put whipped cream on it? No, too solid. Why was it so damn cold in here? I walked over to the thermostat and saw that the heat hadn’t clicked on all night and the temperature had dropped substantially overnight. Now, tired and hungry, I opened the access panel on the heater. There’s the problem: why was someone cooking a duck in here? (SamuraiFrog)

I grabbed the bird and bit into a leg. It tasted like cheese. Or chicken. What kind of weird duck was this? I spat out the rancid meat and threw the rest of the duck in the bin.
Jackson strode into the kitchen, his short dreadlocks bouncing lightly around his face.
“Is my duck ready yet?” he said as he turned towards me. “Hey man, put some clothes on!”
Shit, I had forgotten to put on my boxers. (PJ)

Which explained why I was so damned cold. I grabbed a tea towel and tried to make myself look half decent.
Jackson snorted, "You'd do better with a fig leaf!" Yeah, well, whatever.
"So, where's my bird?" Jackson asked.
"In the bin," I snapped, "where it should be - thing died long, long ago."
"You binned my bird?" Jackson's eyes had started to bulge with rage. "Why you..."
"It would've killed you," I yelled as he lunged at me, the breadknife in his hand. "Damn! It was only an off-duck!" (Absolute Vanilla)

So, of course, to keep the tag demons alive, I'm going to send this one on to...
Scarlett (heh heh)
Christine (tee hee)
Shameless
Canterbury Soul
and
Kyklops

And now I'm going to hide before Christmas and anymore tag/meme demons try to get me!

Politics? Nah, let's stick to beauty.

Which way up, you decide.

Not much to say today - actually, that's not true. I had written a post about the upcoming African National Congress (ANC) election for a new president of the ruling party. But D decided what I'd said was far too contentious and I was likely to get sued. I did say that sometimes I liked to live on the edge. He said he didn't think this particular edge was a good place to be living. So... what I can tell you is that we live in interesting times as the current president of both the country and the ANC, Thabo Mbeki, goes head to head with his former deputy president, Jacob Zuma. One is a manager and a pragmatist with a strong Thatcherite bent and some very odd views on AIDs/HIV. The other's is the people's man, who's recent past has been dogged by charges of corruption and allegations of the rape (unprotected) of an HIV-positive woman.

"Politics, n. Strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles."
Ambrose Bierce - The Devil's Dictionary

"In politics, absurdity is not a handicap."
Napoleon Bonaparte

Let it not be said that life is ever dull. But let it also be said that while comrades in the ANC may be at each other's throats and stakes may be high, beauty nonetheless abounds in all sorts of other places.

"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not"
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Simply beautiful.

"Beauty is an ecstasy; it is as simple as hunger. There is really nothing to be said about it. It is like the perfume of a rose: you can smell it and that is all."
W. Somerset Maugham

Guinea Fowl Capers

I have spent the better part of today, hanging out the window and lurking in the garden, trying to "study" the guinea fowl. They are, I've decided, the most hopeless of parents. The ones next door who produced their lot a few weeks ago - six in all - have managed to lose four. I suspect three were taken by cats or the sparrowhawk, but the other one they simply lost. Off went the family while one little creature was left behind - peeping frantically all day long, running up and down along the garden wall. By the end of the day the peeping had stopped and I imagine from the unhappy "Oh!" expressed by the neigbhour that the poor mite hadn't made it.

Yesterday, amidst much excitement, we discovered we had four babies in our garden. By this morning there were only three. Mind you, the one had looked very poorly and the screeching and cackling in the night was also indicative that something probably snatched the weakest one since it's not around today. I'm inclined to be like a mother hen with all the babies about, but I realise I stress myself out totally while the guinea parents just get on with it. What, oh, we've lost one, well, there we go. Sometimes I think life must be a whole lot easier just living in the now with no tangible past or future - just this moment. I'm alive, I'm dead. There's food, there's isn't. I've got six babies, now I've got five. That's not to say the guinea fowl aren't protective of their young, they're just not efficiently effective. The males stand up on their toes, squawk loudly and flap their wings, the females just run away. The rest of flock may issue warning screeches. The babies, at least, generally have the good sense to hide, assuming they've run fast enough to get away.

Aside from the clutch of new babies, there are also still the two from next door and another slightly older pair.

Watching the antics of all these baby birds is too sweet for words. Today the very littlies were trying out their wings - we don't go far and we don't go high, but, gosh, mom, look at me fly. They have voracious appetites and their diet consists of seed and insects - I watched one enjoy a snack on a small spider and another peck off the seed heads of my daisies. There has also been a lot of peeping - which is always a sure sign that someone has managed to get left behind and doesn't know where the rest are - but then the parents are inclined to wander off without ensuring the entire family is together! Kind of reminds me of the day my mother lost me in the supermarket when I was three...

Blending into the garden edging...

So this is parsley...

Big, big, little, little, and two teens...

See how they run...

Big brother and little brother...

In Honour of the Silly Season and Courtesy of Atyllah the Hen…

And just when you thought it was safe to go back into the world… the silly season descends. And not just that…

There I was trying to make my way through the ravening hordes at the mall – having fought my way through at least five traffic jams – when there was a tap on my shoulder. I recognized that tap and so tried to ignore it.
“You know what happens next, don’t you?” hissed an all too familiar voice.
I shoved my fingers in my ears. But not in time.
“BA-KAAAAAAAK!”
Oh bother, what can I say, she came back.
For those of you who haven’t been journeying with me for that long you may not be aware of Atyllah the Hen, Chicken with Attitude. Now I would tell you that Atyllah is a fictional character who used to have her own blog. Atyllah, however, will tell you that if you think she’s fiction then your life is one big fantasy. She’s that kind of Chicken. Moreover, she’s an alien chicken from a distant galaxy and a planet called Novapulse. Nova Pullis – New Chicken – geddit? Well, I try not to because it really just becomes far too much.
“What are you doing here,” I hissed, steering her to an alcove. One doesn’t, after all, really want to be explaining oneself to the authorities when they ask what you’re doing with a five foot four chicken – and one who is likely to give them a good pecking if they “get smart” – her words, not mine. “And where’s your human suit?” I muttered, “Couldn’t you at least have made some effort to blend in?”
“Ha! Blend in, with you lot, why by the great Corncob and all that is unholy would I want to do that? Eh? Anyway, I’m perfectly blended, in it’s your silly season time, people will just think I’m part of the festive appeal.”
“Yes, but you’re not appealing.”
“Oh really? You’re joking, come on, tell me you’re joking.”
“Yes, all right, I’m joking.” Anything for a quiet life. I’m an eternal optimist.
“So, what are you doing here?”
“Checking up on you.”
“And? How’m I doing?”
“Well, Aunt Aggie would be proud of you but Granny Were thinks you’ve gone a bit sappy and that there's been far too much seriousness on your blog of late.”
“Yes, well, she would. She is, after all, a WereChicken. But I don’t see how Aunt Aggie can be proud of me, she died.”
“Oh, I know, from an excess of human toxicity..." Atyllah glared at me in a meaningful way. "But happily for us she reincarnated. She decided she was missing us too much.”
“It’s as easy as that?”
“When you are as evolved a being as Aunt Aggie you can do pretty much as you want. Anyway, listen, I can’t hang about chatting, the spacepod is parked up on the roof – I wasn’t going to risk teleporting here with all the air traffic flying in at this time of year – Corncob, this place is overrun with tourists!”
“And you’re not a tourist – an intergalactic one?” I said raising an eyebrow.
I received a scathing look for my pains.
“As I was trying to say, since we were aware that this was your festive, urgh, season, we thought we’d jolly together for old time’s sake and provide you with some good cheer. Of course, you know my view on these things, “bah, humbug”, but, oh well, anything to humour a reincarnated great-aunt. Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”
I was dragged and bustled through the shoppers and wailing children - and past a man who clearly wasn’t Santa - and up to the roof of the mall, where a very strange sight awaited me. The Hens had all descended and were putting on a show!
You can decide for yourself just how pretty it was – and I’m sorry to say, I got dragged in too.
Oh well, ‘tis the season to be jolly, tra-la-la-laa and bah very humbug.

Atyllah's impersonation of Scrooge may be viewed here

(Pictured from left to right - Aunt Aggie, Granny Were, Atyllah and yes, well, I got dragged in too.)

The full-on Hen impersonation of jolly little elves may be viewed here.

Of course, you can join in the mayhem and silliness by going to Elf Yourself.com or Scrooge Yourself.com. Ho ho ho...

Interconnection

My apologies for long and sporadic posting this week - I'm trying to catch up on everything that was left undone while I was ill. Hopefully all will be back to normal (normal being as relative as it is...) next week.

I was pondering the other day the nature of the concepts “world” and “universe” – as one does… But seriously… I was thinking about the interconnectedness of all things, of ourselves as part of each other and of the far greater whole that extends beyond this world and out into the far reaches of infinity. And I thought then of how much we are a microcosm of the macrocosm, a part of the greater whole, our own bodies small worlds within themselves, every bit interconnected, related to, part of the other bits.
And all this made me ponder the nature of what holds us together, what sets us apart, how some of us view ourselves as interconnected and others, well, just don’t. Those others seem to view themselves as set apart – okay, maybe a part of other small, independent whole - perhaps a distinct group or race or class – but still separate from the greater body of humanity. Of course, at this point my toes lose the edge of the lake and I find myself plummeting into colder, deeper waters, contemplating things like the war in Iraq, the riots in Paris, the new corporate “superpowers”, the original response to the English teacher in the Sudan… Suddenly the list becomes endless and it begins to strike me that we are always at each others throats. And then I realize that I have strayed from where I started, the miracle of interconnectedness – and all because those who remain unconscious manage to clamour for and gain attention on our TV screens and in our newspapers. And they all seem bound together by manmade, rather than “God” inspired ideas. (I use the term “God” in its loosest sense. I do not refer to some biblical god – rather to the greater creative/divine energy.) So, I drag myself back to where I started… the concept of worlds, ourselves as small worlds. I like the idea because it points out, it seems to me, the reality of our place in the greater reality – as I said, small parts of the whole. And then, as it does, the clip below popped into my mail box and I though, “ah, yes, see, now that just sums it up perfectly.” Our bodies are miniatures of the universal whole and who, considering that, can possibly say that we are not all interconnected, that everything in the universe is not interconnected, that what one does, impacts upon another. That all things are in balance and that a greater wisdom, consciousness, drives it all.

And then I remembered I'd written something like this in one of my many notebooks early last month... clearly the subject is much on my mind...

Think of yourself... you are a world - as is your family and your home. And there is our world - a whole - a mass of energetically integrated organisms and life-forms. I wonder how many see it that way though?

Think of your home, your family, yourself - all worlds in their own right - connected, interconnected, functioning interdependently.

Consider this: you cut your toe, it bleeds and it hurts. The pain runs through your entire being courtesy of a multitude of neurotransmitters firing off alarms. Your mouth, your vocal chords echo the pain. Your body's defense mechanisms spring into action to prevent infection. The clotting mechanisms kick in to ensure the cessation of blood flow. Your hands, on the ends of your arms, reach out to tend the injury. The cells within the tissues, your skin, go to work to close the gash. Everything, every bit of you, functions together to heal the wound - and ensure the well-being, not just of your toe but of your entire being.

The same might apply to your family or your home. Your brother may need help. The family rally round to offer support - it may be financial or emotional or practical. Or, your roof springs a leak - you don't leave it (I hope!), you get up there and fix it or call someone in to do it, because not doing so would mean damaged timbers, sodden carpets, wrecked furniture. You treat your home as an extension of yourself - your world - you protect it because in doing so you ensure your own well being.

So, if we think then of the world we live in, planet Earth - we live in it, or so we should, in the same way. We should tend it, just as we tend ourselves, our family and our home. Because it is part of us and we are part of it in the same way. This part interconnected with that. That part reliant on this. Something goes wrong in the east, the west rushes to help. One place experiences a tsunami or an earthquake, another place sends help. Discontent in one part, affects another part. Injury to one place impacts upon some other place.

The trouble is though we don't treat the world as though all is interconnected. Too many of us, tiny worlds in our own right, ignore the plight of another part. Too many of us turn a blind eye to the pain experienced elsewhere - in fact, still worse, there are those of us who actively set out to create dissent, pain and destruction - as though we would willingly cut off our own foot, or poison ourselves, burn ourselves, mutilate ourselves. Consider what we think of those who do such things... consider those of us who do those things to the world - our world. Generally, most of us don't treat ourselves with such self hatred, such lack of love and respect. So why do some of us treat our world in this way. Are not all of us not part of it? Is it not part of all of us? Do we not collectively rely on every part of our world so that it and we function as a whole?

What kind of strange species have some of us mutated into that literal self-destruction has become a core objective? Sure some may gain personal wealth to ensure better healthcare for that cut toe but if some are allowed to continue in this way - and they encourage others to imitate them in a continual praise of Mammon - all that accumulated wealth will be of no use as the world, our world, the place where we stand, where we build our homes and create our families, slowly crumbles away. It is time all of us realised that we are not separate - nothing is. All is one.


The images used here are reflections - but which is truly which, or is one element part of the other? Are they trees, or trees reflected on a granite surface - or is just granite. Is it a painting, or the garden reflected in a painting... Or a painting of a garden? Consider beyond the obvious.