Riaan en Kari Doorduin: Augustus 2012

12 Augustus 2012

Laasnaweek was dit die van den Dool kant van die familie se beurt vir die Cedarberge. Ons het almal ons intrek in Oom Piet se huis ingeneem. Dit moet so snaaks wees vir 'n kleintjie soos Vincent - ons klim in die kar, ry ure lank, klim uit op 'n plek en dan is Oupa en Ouma, tannie Ronel en oom Brett, en beste van alles, nefie Benjamin ook daar! Hy was baie ingenome om sy nefie te sien en het vinnig nadergekruip en na hom gewys en seker gemaak ons sien almal dit is sy nefie! Dit was maar bitter koud, veral Saterdagnag, maar ons het lekker gekuier - en die sneeu met 'n dag gemis!! Maandag het dit in al 9 provinsies gesneeu, blykbaar die eerste keer wat dit opgeteken word. Ons sou sowaar vasgesneeu gewees het.

Pragtige sonsondergang!

'n Bewys dat dit onder vriespunt was Saterdagnag

Oeee bokkies!

Pasop - hulle kou mens se vingers!

Eendag gaan ek ook so 'n stootskraper ry!

Benjamin sit op sy seepkis en vertel 'n klomp stories.

Halo Mamma!

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"Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind." -Albert Einstein

"He who cannot draw on 3000 years is living from hand to mouth." -Goethe

"When confronted with a work of art, we have to open our minds to allow it to carry us away. If we seek to relate intimately to another person, we have to be prepared to make ourselves vulnerable.." - Karen Armstrong

I wanted to live everywhere and smell, taste, feel everything. I wanted to go to sea, explore unknown lands, take off in a space rocket, dine only at all-you-can-eat restaurants, be the last to leave parties. What I couldn’t acknowledge then, and hardly now, is that life just isn’t like that for most of us. The quicksands of suburbia were lurking at every step, and those who broke on through to the sunlit uplands couldn’t find their way back, even when the poverty and lack of enthusiasm for climbing means they wanted to come back. It was the dream of an immature young man, which is exactly what I was.
My eyes would be drawn inevitably to the low ridge of purple hills that ringed the east side of Manchester. The weight of the city; of all those people moving on their tiny arcs across its concrete streets, would be lifted for a moment. That place, over there in those hills, was somewhere I could feel alive, where the moment of release could give me the clarity to understand unconsciously that poetry, prophecy, and religion are all one.

- Ed Douglas: Voices from the Summit, 2000