Walks in the rain

When it rains - the temptation is always there to stay snug inside, especially when it is SO cold as this last hiccup of winter was yesterday. There are a lot of things to do inside on a cold day, but somehow being outside is always nicer.

We floated leaf boats down the gutter - with accompanying "weeee" sounds. I, in my "lets be more efficient" mode, wanted to run inside to find a better boat - a paper or plastic one - but then checked myself. Who needs paper or plastic when there are loads of leaves just waiting to be floated?
Why spoil the moment.

We wandered. Down to main road, and then back up.

 Around the corner joining tannie Corrie's house to that of die gaskunstenaar. Sadness here. She had a fall a few weeks back, and her children (and she herself) finally had to accept that she can't live alone any more. They have booked her into an old age home a few times, and she booked herself out again. It took a fall and pain and humiliation for all to realize that. And a savior - a kind neighbor with open eyes and a helping hand.

To the other side of Sering,through great puddles of water where raindrops make fish eyes that pop on the surface.

A very good place to practice reading. Kyk mamma, die T se arms val af.

Square manhole covers 

Exploring nests - bee's, and fairy's.
This is the stuff of life.
The journey.
Discovery.
Imagination.


Every now and again I need a rainy day adventure to remind me.

The wait

"But I'll kneel down,
Wait for now
And I'll kneel down,
Know my ground
And I will wait, I will wait for you"
                                                            - Mumford & Sons

I was thinking of parents who have to watch their children walk wide circles to find themselves - out of safe boundries, through deep valleys where their loved ones can't follow.
I was thinking of parents whose children go to war - against another country, or against themselves.
The wait can be years
Or it can be a moment (and such moments are not bound by time)

In which we don't persue an answer or give one that is ours
but kneel down in our spirits and wait
wait

Speel-speel-eet-eet-speel

Vrugtestukkies is baie goed vir letters en syfers leer

Was dit nou weer vis, of donkietande? 

                                                                 
                                                   Bernard Beer gaat naar het Suide

                                                              'n tang....

Swaai

Mamma, ek wil swaai. Dan swaai ons. En niemand mag tel wanneer ons moet ophou nie. 

Laaste stukkie winter

Dis koud! Vandag is dit asof die winter se: "Ek los nie sonder om finaal te wys wie ek is nie". Andrew het vanmiddag die plaat agter die kaggel weer mooi geswart, so ons kon nie eens kaggel maak nie - en die hele huis het na kaggelverf gestink sodat ons al die deure moes ooplos en die wintersdag goed deur die huis getrek het. Die beste oplossing vir die koue vir my en Vincent was 'n laaaang diep bad. Waaruit dit baie moeilik was om te klim, selfs toe die water al begin afkoel het. Dit was nog steeds baie lekkerder as buite in die wintershuis.

Vanoggend om die tafel met Andrew en Helda - Philip by die deur. Helda het hom te woord gaan staan - en weggestuur. Eintlik moes ons hom ingenooi het vir koffie. Dink ek nou. Te laat.

Vincent 3

Noudat jy 3 is...

En eintlik self jou tande kan borsel, en eintlik self kan gaan piepie soos jy by die skool al lankal doen, en eintlik self jou klere kan aan en uittrek, en eintlik self aan die slaap kan raak sonder dat Mamma 'n uur lank by jou moet le. En eintlik 'n goeie wiks moet kry as jy ons slaan - al doen jy dit redelik halfhartig. En eintlik dadelik moet luister as ons praat en nie ja maar en ek wil eers moet se nie. Eintlik ons moet vertrou dat ons meestal weet wat goed is vir jou. Maar dit nie heeltemal doen nie, omdat jy ook jou likes en dislikes het, en nie in 'n blik of boksie gedruk wil word nie. Waar le die lyne? Soms is dit moeilik om dit raak te sien, dit is so fyn.

Jy wat my sooo styf vasgehou het toe ek van Israel af teruggekom het en nie wou los nie. Maar nie gehuil het nie - en toe jy my eindelik los met oorgawe voor ons uit deur die lughawe gehuppel het. Wat stoele omgegooi het van kwaadwees en hartseerwees toe jy en Pappa tuiskom na julle my afgelaai het. Jy wat so hartseer en kwaad raak as ek jou net 'n ligte raps gee as jy nie wil luister nie - maar nie 'n deal wil maak dat ons twee nooit weer aan mekaar slaan nie. Maar wel baie mooi in stilte luister toe ek vir jou verduidelik dat ek net so voel soos jy as jy aan my slaan, dat dit slegte mans is wat aan hulle vrouens slaan, en dat ons nie wil he jy moet 'n slegte man word nie. En toe in stilte jou klere uittrek en in die bad klim. Jy is goed met luister - ons praat te veel en vergeet dit. Ons bid dat jy sal leer om in die lewe net te luister na dit wat belangrik is vir wie jy is.

Tribute to Mel

Remembering you and Taipei.... the jungle of sugary sweet bread of all the colours of the rainbow, night markets with their unmistakable stinky tofu smells (I never could get close enough to try it) and thousands and thousands of people. Half of the them bloody mouthed rotting toothed spitting beetlenut.. ahem, lets be nice, gentlemen. We sought out the stalls with good soy milk drinks, coffee shops that sold pumpkin pie (Grandma Nitties) and nice big mugs of coffee, the not-so-crowded mountain walks (do you remember the spider webs?) the tea farms.
Cried together when we missed home and the smog was horrible to run in and the kids became too much.










Up Toroko Gorge in the big bus which hung so far over the precipices that we had to close our eyes or look the other way. I am glad that we only heard afterwards that every one in so many buses get flattened by rock falls and do not make the turns.  Down Toroko Gorge in the last mini bus with the movie that started over each time the bus went through a dip in the road. We must have seen the start of that movie  50 times (was it die hard 2? I can't remember, but that would have been funny)
And the very smelly gentleman sitting behind you who liked your hair so much...

Sitting on the beach at Hualien, watching the approaching taiphoon, and wondering when a good time would be to take the train back to Taipei. Or if we should just hole in and have a good reason not to go to school the next day. I still think we should have... when will we ever have time to experience a taiphoon THAT close again?

The earthquake and the really really weird unearthly rumbling that went before it. the fear of not knowing whether it will get worse or go away. The torrential rain of the taiphoons - going out to inspect the damage in the streets as soon as we could go outside without getting swept away.

And the orchids, oh wow the orchids!  The market under the bridge every weekend, sending orchids home in a box labeled stationary every few weeks.  Vaguely knowing that its not really allowed, never knowing that a few years later I would be intimately acquainted with the SA plant quarantine system and it's people. 

 One of them still survives.
 

I wish I could remember more Chinese...I do say hi and how are you and count to 10 with the lady at the china shop who gives toys and hugs to my son when he walks out with a basket that he thought we could use, without even thinking about the fact that we should buy it first. The beautiful innocence of youth. 

You were and always will be an inspiration to me, Mel. I am proud to be your friend. I hope we get to meet again someday. 

Montessori spiders

I’m a daddy long legs,
But my feet are the size of pegs.
I’d like to eat a wasp or bee,
Because that is so plainly me.I would like to get a docket,
And fly up to space in a rocket.
I’d fly away to the stars,
Then to the moon and Mars.
That’s what I’d like to really do,
But if you measure me in millimetres I’m only one by two.
Even if I were taller I couldn’t do that,
I’d probably get eaten by a space cat.
To fly to space would be my dream,
But some dreams are not what they seem.
So I guess I’ll have to stay on earth,
Where I’ve been since my birth.

By Cassie

A Spider sewed at Night
Without a Light
Upon an Arc of White

If Ruff it was of Dame
Or Shroud of Gnome
Himself himself inform.

Of Immortality
His Strategy
Was Physiognomy.

Emily Dickinson

Windmills of your mind

Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
Like a snowball down a mountain, or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that's turning running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind!

Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving in a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind!

Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head
When did summer go so quickly? Was it something that you said?
Lovers walking along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song
Half remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?
When you knew that it was over you were suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair!
Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
As the images unwind, like the circles that you find in 
The windmills of your mind!

Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head
When did summer go so quickly? Was it something that you said?
Lovers walking along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song
Half remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?
When you knew that it was over in the autumn of good-byes
For a moment you could not recall the color of his eyes!
Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
As the images unwind, like the circles that you find in 
The windmills of your mind!

Kleinmond se wilde perde